


Reconciliation

by Ariana (Ariana_El)



Series: The House of Fëanor chronicles [4]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Coping, Family, Gen, No pairings - Freeform, lots of emotions, post-Thangorodrim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2018-12-22 16:50:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 70,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11971551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ariana_El/pseuds/Ariana
Summary: Story about the recovery of Maedhros and his efforts to find himself in this new reality, but also to stitch back what was torn among the Noldor. Lots of relations between brothers.The series is just to help with chronology, the stories can be read separately.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is translation of my story written originally in Polish. The story itself is already finished, and was posted almost a year ago. I will do my best to translate and update this story on regular basis.  
> I was asked a few times by Polish readers if I knew one fic, as my story seemed to have a lot in common. The story they mentioned was "The Tempered Steel". No, I did not know that story, I waited until I finished mine before going to see what the readers meant. There are some ideas that are very similar, but it is just a coincidence. I was surprised myself when I finished reading.  
> I'm open for any kind of discussion.

# Prologue

 

Fingon disappeared, that’s when it all started.

It was hard to forget the moment when Turgon came to the settlement of the sons of Feanor on his tired horse. It was the first time their cousin bothered to get to their side of the lake; until then, both sides had consequently kept their policy of not crossing each other’s ways. It had taken his brother’s disappearance for Turgon to overcome his aversion and inform them. They had been living there longer and thus had had more time to get acquainted with those lands, he affirmed angrily when confronted by Caranthir.

Maglor reluctantly recalled that day. It had taken all of his authority as the eldest to prevent Caranthir and Turgon from locking horns. As soon as he had made sure his younger brothers had some urgent tasks to fulfill at the other side of the camp, he was able to get more details from Turgon.

Fingon had left three days earlier. He had taken his horse, weapons, his harp and probably some provisions; of the last they hadn’t been certain. He had ridden before dawn, he had told no one about his plans. Even if he had felt like hunting alone, which would have been risky and unlike him, he would have long since returned.

Maglor had acknowledged that, he had reassured Turgon they would keep their eyes open and then had led him off back to the gates, silently regretting the fate that could have become Fingon’s; he had never wished him bad.

His promises were not just empty words and so his scouts patrolling the lands were more vigilant than ever. But days changed into weeks and they started to think that Fingon died or got captured. No news came from the other side of the lake, though Maglor silently hoped that his uncle would try to get in touch.  It looked though that Fingon had shared the sad fate of Maedhros and they did not have the strength to attack Angband and see if their suspicions were right.

And then, after almost three months, Fingon suddenly returned. And he turned their world upside down.


	2. Chapter I

#  Chapter I

 

The giant eagle flying over the camp caused the motion among the guards. It was hard to miss the majestic bird in the light of setting sun.

The sons of Feanor went outside and watched the eagle pass their camp and fly over the lake to get down at the other side. The eagle landed where Fingolfin’s settlement was, but soon it left the ground and went back east.

The Noldor on the southern side wondered what was reason of one of Manwe’s eagles had to visit Fingolfin, but it was soon clear tha none of them had guessed. The solution came from north in a form of messengers with an invitation for Maglor; a summoning more likely, though put in elegant words.

The news that it was Fingon who had returned in such a spectacular way just fuelled the brothers’ curiosity. Caranthir suspected a trap, Curufin asked why only the eldest should go. Amras was trying to guess.

Maglor cut those discussions and ordered his brothers to wait. He hoped that Fingon had gotten some important news, if their uncle decided to share them with the sons of Feanor and sent for him so suddenly in the middle of the night. He also suspected that Fingolfin asked for him alone to inquire about the situation in the other camp and potential perspectives for cooperation.

The sun was rising when he reached his uncle’s settlement. It was the first time he could see it so close and only now he was able to assess the forces Fingolfin possessed. _If they wanted revenge, they could have swept us from the ground,_ he concluded grimly, not daring to step inside without an invitation.

He didn’t wait long; soon someone took his horse, some other elf led him to Fingolfin’s quarters. Maglor hoped he was able to hide his nervousness; though he had suppressed his brothers’ considerations, he had no clue what was it all about.

Despite what he expected, there was no Fingolfin nor Turgon  in sight. It was Fingon who was waiting for him alone. Was he the least reluctant? ‘For I cannot say the most friendly,’ thought Maglor gloomily, watching his cousin as he approached him.

“Kanafinwe.”

“It is good to see you unharmed, Findekano.” These words, sincere, broke from Maglor’s throat instead some stiff greeting. There was no enmity on Fingon’s face, just a shade of fatigue which made Maglor wish to ask a lot of questions. Considering the strained contact between the two camps, or rather the lack of it, who knew when he would get another opportunity.

“There is someone who will please you more,” answered Fingon, but his serious tone alarmed Maglor. “Come.” He led him down the corridor.

Maglor followed his cousin, confused. Who could Fingon have meant? Among Fingolfin’s host there were many of his former friends, but he could think of no one particular he had missed. For a brief moment he even considered the possibility of this being some kind of a trap, but one glance at his cousin made him blush in embarrassment; Fingon was too sincere and straightforward to repay the sons of Feanor for their betrayal in such way.

“Keep calm.” Fingon warned him quietly and opened the door. He went in and moved to make some space.

Red hair. That was all Maglor saw in the silhouette laying on the bed; now Fingon’s words suddenly made sense.

He didn’t even know how he found himself on his knees beside the bed. His eyes were glued to his brother’s face, gaunt almost beyond recognition. He ran his fingers through the dry, pinched skin on the neck, touched the lifeless hand on the bedding. Carefully, as if afraid that Maedhros would break or disappear under his touch. What he was able to acknowledge with all certainty was that the elf’s ribcage was raising in a shallow breath and that his hand was warm, much warmer than his own, but that didn’t surprise Maglor; he could swear the blood in his veins froze and went still. And then it must have boiled, for waves of heat went through his body, black spots danced before his eyes and Maedhros’ hand ceased burning him. For a brief moment Maglor saw only dirt behind short, broken nails of his brother, the net of blue veins running just under his dry skin burnt by the sun. Then the tension in his temples lessened, the noise of his boiling blood silenced, his sight came back.

Maedhros did not disappear, though he started blurring. It took another moment until Maglor realized it was just the tears that disturbed his sight. He breathed deeply a few times, wiped his eyes with his hand; the other he didn’t dare to move, the warmth of Maedhros drawn him like a moth to the light.

Fingon was silent, waiting, observing. Maglor rose from his knees, sat at the edge of the bed, glanced at his brother more soberly. Maedhros had a clean face, reddened; it must have just been washed. Around his head laid a mess of his wet, copper hair. Maglor consequently continued his examination, looking at everything that wasn’t covered with dressings, he was looking and searching what was left of the Maedhros he remembered.

Fingon remained silent and Maglor was grateful for it, for right now he would not be able to make a sound, lest it be to howl in helpless rage. Or cry. Thank. Beg for forgiveness. And thank again. And shout. Too many emotions to put them into words; even he, playing with them so fluently, could not.

Maglor removed the blankets, subconsciously counted the exposed ribs. And then he saw his brother’s right hand, covered with thick bandages. And what was lacking. A moan escaped his lips.

“What have they...” The words stuck in his throat.

“It was not Moringortto.” Fingon spoke for the first time since they came to this room. “It was my doing. I had no choice,” he admitted sadly.

Maglor was grateful he was sitting, for he felt faint when he realised what his cousin had said. For a brief moment he thought that this was Fingolfin’s sentence for the slaughter in Alqualonde and for the burned ships, so that Maedhros would never again be able to raise his hand against his kin. He silenced it. ‘ _It’s Findekano,’_  he reminded himself again. ‘ _It’s Findekano and he’s just returned  your brother to you.’_ A friend, not bound by the Oath that had already taken it’s bloody reward.

He must have had it written on his face, for his cousin dragged himself a chair and sat down too. He spoke silently, not to disturb the wounded, he spoke from the end  to the beginning, from most important things to the details. Maglor remained silent, clinging to his brother’s hand, he listened and counted Maedhros’s every breath. Fortunately, Fingon didn’t expect him to answer and it was good, because emotions almost chocked him. Relief. Bitterness. Earnest gratitude for his host. Hate. Embarrassment. He could not raise his head to look at his cousin. ‘Coward,’ he thought somewhere around Maedhros’s two hundred breath.

They had betrayed their brother, renounced him, abandoned him to torture and oblivion. They had thought him dead, they had mourned him because it was easier this way, and then they had been sitting silently and fortifying their camp. And as it turned out, all that was needed  was one Fingon, stubborn and brave enough to bring Maedhros home. _A shred._ Alive. _Cripple._ Wounded. _Wreck._ ALIVE.

When Fingon understood that it was going to be a very one-sided conversation and moved to giving some details from his journey, Maglor could no longer sit idly. He grabbed a comb and put it into the mess of hair, trying to untangle them. He would have tried harder if not for the fact that he was afraid to move his brother. Soon he had to give up, accepted the scissors Fingon gave him. Strand after strand he cut the copper hair with his shaking hands. They would grow back. _The hand would not._ It doesn’t matter. Maitimo is alive.

”I need to go back,” said Maglor long after Fingon ceased talking. “I don’t wish to. I have to.”

“I can send a messenger to your brothers.” Fingon offered, but Maglor just snorted grimly.

“They won’t believe them. If I don’t come back, they may think you have kept me here against my will, even if you yourself would go with the news,” he answered. “Tyelko won’t keep them in line.”

Fingon did not comment, just nodded in understanding. It was hard to doubt the fiery spirits of the sons of Feanor.

“Maitimo will be safe here,” he promised, though Maglor would not doubt it. “Come back when you can.”

Maglor rose slowly, reluctantly letting go of his brother’s hand. He knew he would be back in a few hours at most, as soon as he convince his brothers that their uncle meant no harm. He was about to leave when he realized what was that he hadn’t said, though he had repeated it in his thoughts countless times since he had seen Maedhros.

“I find no words to express our gratitude,” he said at last, for the first time officially. “I am in your debt.” It sounded stiff, unnatural.

“Go, tell your brothers.” There was a friendly smile on Fingon’s face and Maglor blushed. He nodded at his cousin and left, this time not waiting for a guide. His horse was waiting outside.

He was wrong. As he rode back to his camp, the words came at their own accord, forming a song praising Fingon the Valiant.

***

“Are you content? Have you discussed with Kanafinwe when they would take him away?’ Turgon snapped at his brother when Fingon left the room where Maedhros had been placed.

“No.” Fingon pulled back his hair from his face; he had no time to comb them after washing and now they hung loosely on his forehead.

When Thorondor left them in the evening beside the settlement, Maedhros was his prime concern. He had passed out just after Fingon had freed him and hadn’t regained consciousness since then, indifferent to all the efforts Fingon had done to stop the bleeding and bring him home alive. Fingon had very few possibilities, he had left most of his things in the saddlebags, and Thorondor had risen from the cliff and took the way west. Fingon had not dared to ask him to retrieve his sacks, afraid that the eagle would leave them by the mountains. He knew he would never be able to ride a horse with Maedhros in this state, not even to mention the potential dangers they would have to face on their way. He had to manage with what little he possessed. Fingon had torn his shirt to pieces and done whatever he could so that his rescue would not prove fatal to Maedhros. He had not even touched any other wounds on his battered body, focusing only on the bleeding of his stump. Fingon had never seen anything this cruel and it didn’t help that he was the one who had maimed his friend.

When they reached the lake, Maedhros was still breathing, though his state had deteriorated during the long hours of the flight and his body burned with fever despite the cool wind from which Fingon’s cloak and Thorondor’s feathers gave little shelter. But Fingon took this shallow breath as a good sign and left his cousin to their best healers; Valar knew they had gotten a lot of experience during the crossing.

“Findekano.” Turgon’s impatient voice dragged Fingon back from his memories. “Father has asked for you.”

Fingon stroke his hair once again; only now he was starting to feel the weariness of his journey. Earlier he had barely found enough time to wash himself and change his clothes.

“No, we made no agreements,” he answered finally, returning to the main topic. “It’s too soon for that, let Kanafinwe go and share the news with his brothers.” He didn’t mention his cousin’s earlier remark. To be honest, Fingon realised, they had set nothing, they had not even gotten to the problem. Maglor had been too flabbergasted until he had remembered that his brothers had known nothing. Maybe it was for the best.

“Just make Kanafinwe take him away and problem’s solved,” snorted Turgon.

After the first moment of joy that Fingon was alive, Turgon seemed resentful. Their father just sighed in relief, but Maedhros caused no warm feelings despite his miserable state. And Fingolfin was even less pleased with Fingon’s spontaneous idea to send a message to Maedhros’s brothers; none of them was welcome here.

“I have no doubts they will want to take him as soon as possible,” retorted Fingon. ‘If Maitimo lives,’ he added silently. “But right now it is not,” he said coolly and gestured at the door, inviting his brother to step in.

Turgon went inside and stood behind the healers who worked around Feanor’s eldest son. He returned after a moment, pale and shaken at the sight what the Enemy could do with an elf if he wanted to.

“Father called me, you said?” Asked Fingon pointedly, knowing that he had made his point and Turgon would not return to the matter of moving Maedhros any time soon.

Turgon just nodded.

***

“That was reckless.” Fingolfin left the window and looked at his son. “I don’t want the presence of the sons of Feanaro to cause any trouble.”

Fingon didn’t try to argue. His brother’s reaction at the sight of Maglor had made him realize that many among their elves hated the sons of Feanor, perhaps even more than Turgon did.

“Forgive me, father, I should have discussed this matter with you,” he admitted. “But Maitimo is in such a state that I wanted to inform his brothers as soon as possible.”

“No son of Feanaro is welcome here,” replied Fingolfin. “You cause chaos, dragging them here like that, with no warning.”

“Should I have left him there?” Fingon raised his voice and looked at his father, wounded that he too, like his brother, would rather see his friend dead. “You’ve seen what the Enemy had done to him!? Should I have answered with malice for those burned ships and left him there? Honestly...”

“No!” His father interrupted him. “You should have not risked joining him there! If not for the grace of Manwe, you would have been hung alongside Nelyafinwe, no one here would have known what happened to you and the Enemy would have had another prince in his grasp!” He said agitated.

“But I succeeded and we are both here.” Fingon pointed out meekly; he had no other words to say to face his father’s love. “Perhaps I should have left Nelyo at the other side of the lake,” he got back to the second delicate matter. “But the eagle headed here and I did not know how to ask him to change his destination.”

“it’s done, you can’t move him now,” said his father and grimed at the memory of his nephew’s state. “But if other sons of Feanaro walk around our settlement, sooner or later we will have some incident and then a war with our brothers instead of Moringotto.”

“I have told Makalaure to come back,” cautioned Fingon. “I couldn’t refuse him.”

Fingolfin just sighed and nodded.

“Well then, Makalaure will have my permission. No one else,” he stressed and Fingon knew his father agreed mostly because he didn’t want to question his authority before the sons of Feanor. “Just tell the guards.”

“Of course.” Fingon nodded in thanks. “And it’s better that the sons of Feanaro learn about Nelyo’s state from one of them. Who knows what they could think if anything happens,” he added, giving his father an argument, should anyone try to question his decision.

 


	3. Chapter II

#  Chapter II

 

The sun was setting when Fingolfin’s settlement appeared before their eyes. Although they had wasted no time and had taken fresh horses, the way around the lake was quite long. They went together as soon as Maglor had shared the news about their brother’s return. They had not passed this information any further, but nevertheless their settlement was bustling with speculations

“Wait.” Maglor stopped his brother, seeing that Caranthir was heading straight to the gate.

“Why?” HIs younger brother obviously felt the need to ask, though he slowed the pace of his horse.

“Because it is not your camp. Would you suffer Turukano walking freely  on your ground with no invitation?” snapped Curufin before Maglor had a chance to answer.  He wasn’t too eloquent, but nonetheless right; they could never get along with this particular cousin.

“How long do we have to wait?” Amras jumped off his saddle and fidgeted anxiously by his horse. Caranthir soon followed him and the rest of the brothers dismounted too.

They didn’t wait long. To Maglor’s astonishment it was Fingon who came to greet them. He was dressed more formally and his hair was braided, but his eyes still carried those black circles; he must not have had a chance to rest after his journey. He also looked uncertain when he saw all the five brothers.

“I’m afraid you came in vain,” he said, glancing at the sons of Feanor. “No, Maitimo is still alive,” he reassured them, preventing any violent reactions.

“Still...” echoed Maglor. “So...?”

“My father does not wish to see any of you within our settlement.” Fingon explained calmly. ”Only Kanafinwe may go with me.”

The mentioned elf caught himself wondering how many archers were standing behind the palisade and how quickly they would take their arms, should one of his younger brothers lose his temper.

“Would you forbid us the entrance?” As always, Caranthir didn’t need much to explode. “He’s our brother!”

“And, unlike Findekano, you did nothing to save him,” snapped Maglor, aware that it was just the beginning. “Just like the rest of us.”

Fingon had the decency to remain silent; Maglor found himself unable to meet his gaze.

Caranthir blushed, Amras took a step back. The eldest among them had said aloud what they were all thinking. Maglor himself realized fully that Maedhros’s return changed nothing, that the responsibility for his family and his people was still his burden to carry. Until now he had not even realized how relieved he was to see his elder brother back, how he had subconsciously thought that Maedhros would take the lead back. Maybe it would happen, but not now and not anytime soon.

“Give us a moment,” Maglor asked his cousin.

Fingon nodded and stepped back, though that was just a gesture of politeness; Maglor had no doubt they could easily be heard by the gate.

“They have their reasons for not wishing to see us here,” he hissed quietly, looking at Caranthir, glancing at Celegorm with the corner of his eye, as the latter was most likely to agree with his impetuous brother. “It is my fault that I haven’t thought about that and took you with me.”

“We would have come anyway.” Caranthir glared back boldly, provocatively; Fingon’s presence seemed not to bother him. “And we have every right to know...”

“Hold your tongue!” Maglor jittered angrily, aware that they were making a scene. “You want to know, then respect Nolofinwe’s wish and let me go with Findekano without fear that your churlish speech will get half of this camp on our heads!”

“You can talk, you’ve seen him,” Amras joined the argument with rancour in his voice. He kept glancing longingly at the gate, as if he hoped to see his eldest brother.

“I have.” Maglor replied dully. _‘You wouldn’t want to see him like that,_ ’ he added silently.

“They cannot keep him against his will, they will give him back to us, won’t they?” For a moment Amras sounded so young when he silently pleaded  for  confirmation.

“I think they don’t want him here as much as we want him back,” muttered Celegorm. “Apart from Findekano, that is,” he added.

“I don’t like it that they won’t let us go to him,” Caranthir wasn’t about to change his mind. “Who knows what they may do to him...”

“They won’t do anything!” Maglor was at the edge of his nerves. “But you’re right, we cannot leave Maitimo alone. So if there is possibility, we need to take it. I will watch over him.” He risked a lot. His brother could agree with him or, Eru forbid, decide that Maedhros may be in any kind of danger.

“Go, we’ll stay by the water,” said Celegorm. “Now,” he hissed at the youngest, still glancing at Fingon with hope.

 

“Forgive me,” muttered Maglor to his cousin as they passed the gate.

“I should have told you.” Fingon just shrugged his arms. “It’s understandable that your brothers came too.”

Maglor followed him the already known way to Fingolfin’s house. Before they reached the room Maedhros was placed in, an elleth ran past them with a bowl of hot water, muttering hasty apologies.

“What’s going on?” Asked Fingon, seeing three healers deep in discussion at the corridor. The elleth went past them and vanished in the sickroom.

“We cannot subdue infection,” said an elf Maglor didn’t recognize. “The wounds are a mess, and his hand...” he shook his head grimly. “I know not what kind of curses and spells of Moringotto have kept him alive, but I’m afraid we are on our own now.”

“Will he live?” Maglor chocked on this question, looking desperately at the healers. If they told him that to heal Maedhros, they required something from Valinor, he would have walked back there and then.

“No, if we don’t stabilise him,” the healer took the little hope he had. “His body is too damaged to fight, the poison is slowly consuming him. If we don’t stop the infection, he won’t last long.”

Maglor chewed on that information for a moment, fighting the urge to fly past them and reach his brother.

“I can send for our healers,” he offered, struck by sudden realization. “We’ve dealt with Moringotto’s poisons, they have caused us a lot of trouble after battle. Maybe together you’ll be able to come up with something.” He glanced at Fingon, looking for approval.

“Of course,” Fingon had no objections. “Will you send your brothers? I wish you to stay here.”

Maglor barely managed to stand still, but he waited until the healers listed all of the problems and gave him clues for his brothers, what kind of help they should seek in their camp. As soon as they finished, Feanor’s son left in a hurry. Only when he was half way to the gate, he realised that Fingon had sent a guard after him, but the elf remained by the gate, so Maglor didn’t think twice of him.

“What’s going on, Kano?” Caranthir was first to jump on his feet, seeing his brother approaching in a hurry.

“We need help, Maitimo is bad,” Maglor panted slightly as he spoke. “Go home, send Alcarino. Ask for healers who have dealt with poisons, perhaps someone’s tended to someone who had lost a limb,” he explained quickly. “Nolofinwe’s healers are running out of ideas. Maybe ours can help.”

“You’re telling us Maitimo is dying and you are sending us away?” Despite Maglor’s assumptions, it was Amras who objected first. “They won’t even let us see him?”

Celegorm turned and grabbed Amras by the shoulders, shaking him.

“Do you wish to help or sit and watch him die?!” He growled at his youngest brother. “Think of what Maitimo needs, not about yourself!”

The colour of Amras’s cheeks matched his hair; then the redhead broke free from his brother’s grip, jumped at his horse and sped away without a single word.

“Tyelko,” Maglor stopped his brother before he mounted too. “Make haste. And don’t you all come back, I doubt Nolofinwe will change his mind.”

“Sure.” Celegorm just nodded. “Stay strong.”

 “Don’t let him go,” added Curufin, brushing his hand over Maglor’s shoulder.

 

The healers wasted no time and when Maglor returned, they were just changing the dressings, so he stood by Fingon’s side so that he would not disturb them, but also because he felt nauseous at the extent of his brother’s wounds.

This time he had every possibility to fully see in what state Fingon had brought his brother. Previously he saw Maedhros when he had been blissfully set into sleep with medicine and he was so quiet and fragile, with bandages mercifully covering the worst effects of Angband.

Right now nothing covered the cruel, festering lashes on his sides, reminiscences of fire whips, going far to his back and shoulders. The shackles Maedhros must have had as a prisoner cut deep into flesh, leaving his ankles in terrible state. All the wounds looked horrible and Maedhros, though unconscious, cringed and trembled with barest touch.

And then one of the healers uncovered  the stamp. Maglor shifted uncomfortably and tightly crossed his arms, watching in terror and fighting nausea and the growing urge to run away, though he would have heard his brother’s screams even on the corridor.

“If you’re about to faint, you’d better get out,” Fingon suggested coldly and that broke Maglor’s stupor.

“No, no,” he coughed; his throat felt dry. “I can help, I wish to help,” he glanced at the healers, trying to silence the distain he felt for himself. ‘ _You sentenced your brother for years of torture and now you lack courage to even look at him,’_ whispered a merciless voice in his head.

The healer who was cleaning the wounds on Maedhros’s torso looked at him critically and nodded.

 “Hold him still,” she ordered shortly. “Just remove all this clothing.”

Maglor undressed quickly so that he was only in a shirt, without any hard things that could cause Maedhros discomfort, and he tugged his hair. Accordingly to the healer’s commands, he sat on the edge of the bed and rose his brother high, so that he could feel his damp hair on his collarbone. Maedhros trembled weakly and to any movement he responded with groan that crashed Maglor’s heart.

“He won’t break if you hold him more firmly,” reprimanded him the healer that was now kneeling beside the elleth, when Maedhros still tried to escape their touch.

Maglor realized that he was indeed afraid of holding his brother, of using any kind of force. He didn’t want to harm him and he knew not where to put his hands on his bruised shoulders without causing further pain. Nevertheless, he tightened his grip and, no longer able to stand the pleading whimpers, he leaned over and started muttering reassuringly.

“Good, keep him like that.”

Maglor sat crouched, his eyes glued to his brother’s face, tightened with pain. For some time he was rambling nonsense, just to talk, because it seemed that his familiar voice calmed the wounded. Then he started singing one of his old songs his brother liked; anything to quiet him.

Either Maedhros reacted to his singing or he simply tired himself out, Maglor didn’t know, but the moans quieted, the wounded stop moving  and he fell asleep. Maglor froze, not daring to move as not to disturb his rest. The healers finished cleaning and covered the wounds. Maglor didn’t know when Fingon left, but suddenly there were just the two of them and he was ready to sit an count his brother’s shallow breaths.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention it earlier, but there is a serie of one-shots related to this story. The series is called "First steps" and it's already published in English. There are just some background images.


	4. Chapter III

**Chapter III**

The healers sent by the sons of Feanor came in the late morning. The guards by the gate let them pass through, as they had been told so earlier by Fingon, but they stopped Amras who came with them. The youngest of the brothers was sensible enough not to argue and obeyed, but he could not go back home. He stayed by the lake where they had waited for Maglor the previous day and he tied his horse to the tree. He had a good view at the gate from there, so that he would immediately know, should his brother or any of the healers leave the settlement.

Hours passed and Alcarino didn’t go back, there was no sign of Maglor too. Amras paced restlessly along the lake shore, until the summer downpour forced him to hide under the trees. He sat there with his hood deep on his face and watched the gate. But day turned into evening, the cloudy sky cleared, revealing the shining stars and Amras knew as little as he had when had come here.

Perhaps the lack of news was good news after all. Alcarino had warned him that in such situation there was little chance for a change anytime soon, and should Maglor be able to pass his brothers some information, it would more likely be the one about Maedhros’s death than anything else. ‘ _Then maybe I should be glad Alcarino doesn’t come back because he’s no longer needed,’_ Amras mused grimly as he spent the sleepless night under the trees. But when the dawn came and Maglor had no news, the youngest of the brothers could not wait any longer.

xxx

Fingon ordered that any problems concerning the sons of Feanor should be addressed to him without bothering his father, so he was the first one to hear that the guards had stopped one of the youngest brothers by the gate. He rushed there; he wanted to take Maglor with him, so that he would be present, but one glance at the door to the sickroom told him to abandon this idea. Maedhros was lying on his brother’s chest and no force would take Maglor away from him. Fingon went alone.

There was already quite a commotion by the gate, because the son of Feanor wasn’t the calmest person and the guards too were not too gentle. Only when the redhead saw Fingon, he stopped struggling and the guards let go of him. He pressed one hand to his stomach and carelessly wiped the blood running from his nose with the other, but he stared at Fingon impatiently.

“How’s Maitimo?” he spat his question. “I wish no trouble, I just want to know how’s Maitimo,” he repeated almost pleadingly, staring at Fingon as if he wanted to burn a hole in him.

Fingon almost pitied him, standing alone among the guards, but his father’s order was an order and his cousin had just broken it.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said calmly. “You have been warned already.”

It seemed that the determination of one of the twins had risen since the previous morning to the point where he tried to get into his uncle’s settlement. The problem was that even if he had managed to mingle between other elves, his red hair would have betrayed him. Fingon realised he had no idea which of the twins was standing in front of him.

“Pityo or Telvo?” he asked in a calm voice; there was no point guessing.

Instead of replying, the redhead choked on the blood still running from his nose and he stared at Fingon as if he had seen a ghost. Then he composed himself and replied, a bit unclearly due to his swelling lip.

“Telvo. Amras.” He suddenly added his sindarin name.

“You’re going home.” Fingon grabbed him by the arm and dragged him to the gate.

Amras followed him obediently, coughing from time to time and glancing longingly over his shoulder. Fingon was silent until they found themselves under the trees by the lake where his cousin had left his horse.

“Maitimo?” Amras asked for the third time when they were out of reach of the guards’ ears. “I have to know, Findekano.”

“He’s not worse than he was,” replied Fingon. “That’s good news,” he added, for now the youngest son of Feanor looked like he was going to cry. “But I feel like you want to worsen his state,” he stated sharply.

“What?!” Amras violently rose his head from the saddlebag he was fiddling with. “Of course not!”

“Then why do you do everything to convince my father that your presence cause disturbance?  Do you wish him to throw Makalaure as well?” hissed Fingon. “Makalaure is the only person that can calm Maitimo just a bit, so that he can sleep and not toss around. For Valar’s sake, why do you have to be so stubborn?!”

“Does that really surprise you?” For a brief moment Amras looked almost amused. “That’s first thing I’ve learned since yesterday,” he pointed out. “Couldn’t Kano at least send a word?”

“I don’t think he’s even aware that you are still here. I didn’t know until you tried to get inside,” admitted Fingon, watching his young cousin closely.

Amras surprised him. Fingon remembered him mostly as a kid before they went on exile, then he didn’t have much to do with the twins. The elf before him had been forced to grow up fast because he managed to compose himself rather quickly, and yet at times he still behaved like an adolescent, when he asked about his eldest brother with his eyes shining. Also, they must have no longer been inseparable with Pityo, because Amras was alone.

“I  need to know,” Amras repeated insistently.

“Don’t ask me to let you in, because I will have to decline.”

“But don’t deny me news.” This time Amras said it more calmly; he seemed content with the fact that Maedhros was still alive.

Fingon gave in and described what had happened during the last day. Amras stood and listened, subconsciously massaging his wrist twisted by the guards.

“Go home, tell you brothers,” finished Fingon. “Are you okay?” he asked, seeing that his cousin winced. “I don’t wish your brothers to jump to false assumption that Maitimo may be in danger here.”

 “I’m alright.” Amras dismissed him coldly and jumped on his saddle. “I told you I wish no trouble.”

 “Are you going to come back here?” inquired Fingon and he wasn’t surprised when his cousin just nodded. “Bring Kano some fresh shirt. And I don’t want to see you here earlier that tomorrow midday.”

Amras just nodded again and rode away. Fingon got back, hoping that he would at least wash himself a bit before meeting his brothers.

xxx

“Has something happened?” Maglor greeted him when Fingon came to the sickroom. “I had an impression you wished to call me?”

Maedhros was sleeping soundly, his head resting against his brother. There was a half emptied bowl of soup at the nightstand, meaning that Maglor had managed to feed him just a bit.

“The guards have stopped Telvo when he was trying to get to you,’ explained Fingon and sat on the bed. “I sent him back home with news for your brothers,” he added and described what had happened by the gate.

“I should have expected that.” Maglor was not surprised at all. “It will be hard to keep him on distance, especially him, especially from Maitimo.”

“I was sure they were both of them somewhere around our camp. Have they fallen out over something?" asked Fingon casually; he didn’t have to say he meant the other twin.

Maglor shut his eyes for a moment, hugging his sleeping brother protectively.

“Pityo is dead,” he said dully. He tried to uncurl his brother’s fingers clasped in tight grip; that was the only sign of life apart from delirious pleas to end his suffering.

Fingon looked at him, taken aback. In his eyes Maglor could see the dread of what he was about to hear.

“It wasn’t just you our father suspected of treason,” he explained bitterly. “He questioned  us too. Maitimo wished to send the ships back, but then it was made clear father had never intended to do so. They argued like never before,” he stopped and looked at his brother’s face, searching for any kind of reaction. He hoped this would call him back, as it was still a delicate matter causing strong emotions. “Maitimo left our camp then, I have o idea where he went, probably to calm down... We were sleeping and father set the ships on fire with everything we had left under the decks.” _We were not all asleep,_ he added silently, but he was not going to tell Fingon that. He sometimes wondered if Curufin dreamed of their brother at nights. “One of the twins slept on the deck.”

“Valar...” groaned Fingon. “Fёanaro had not checked it there was no one on the ships?”

“He burned that one first,” Maglor corrected him grimly. If his younger brothers could hear him now, they would have accused him of slandering the memory of their father. As if it was possible to worsen the opinion about Feanor in their uncle’s settlement. “He suspected, quite rightly, that the twins would want to go back to mother and he wished to prevent that. And so they didn’t,” he snorted. “Telvo never spoke a word to him after that.” Said elf was no longer a child, but as the youngest among them was still protected.

“I am sorry.”

“For the last years I’ve had only one redhead,” muttered Maglor to himself and he stroke his brother’s short, sweated hair. Only now did he see the effect of his desperate haircut. They would have to fix it later when Maitimo gets better. ‘ _If he gets better,’_ Maglor corrected himself grimly.

“It all mingles,” he said after a while. “It was maybe, I don’t know, a month, perhaps a bit longer,” he spoke with his eyes still glued to Maedhros, almost forgetting about his cousin. “Father went too far, up to Angband. We were on a foreign ground, but Maitimo managed to reclaim him. Then, before our father’s blood dried on our hands, an envoy came,” he continued bitterly, speaking more to himself than to Fingon. Rationality suggested that he should stop, but the words took control and Maglor spat the burden that had fallen on him. “Moringotto was surrendering, would you believe?”

 Fingon grunted at the mere thought of it, but Maglor caught his interested sight. No wonder, they had scarcely had an opportunity o talk about details, both of Feanor’s first days in Middle-Earth and Fingolfin’s journey. The two camps kept in touch when it came to matters of their safety and possible dangers. Their uncle and cousins knew only that Maedhros had been captured, and the sons of Feanor heard from Turgon about Elenwe’s death.

“And Maitimo picked that mocking game, he agreed to pact,” Maglor went on, as Fingon said nothing. “A week later another envoy came, this time with demands that were impossible to fulfil.”

“And have you tried...” Fingon’s question stuck in the air, unfinished.

“Do you think we haven’t?” Only now Maglor raised his head to look at his cousin. “He cast us away, I had to back off. I couldn’t lose more brothers.” The words he had been repeating himself since he had sent Morgoth’s envoy away went uncontrolled, like a desperate explanation.

“I know... That’s why Turukano is still so cross with me.” Fingon moved closer, his eyes darkened with sadness. “At the thought that I too might have not come back.”

“Who...?” Now it was Maglor who stared anxiously. “You told us about Elenwe, but Itaril...?”

“Not Itaril,” Fingon shook his head. “Arakano fell in our first encounter with orcs. We could barely recognize his body.”

Maglor could only nod grimly in acknowledgement. They had not even had this much when the ships burned. Amrod had been taken by fire and water, so maybe it was for the better that they had been spared that sight; the image of their dying father Maglor had engraved deep in his mind and only now Maedhros’s tragic state overshadowed it.

“So the oath has already taken the youngest,” Fingon sighed quietly.

The cousins exchanged glances, begging silently it wouldn’t also take the eldest.

 


	5. Chapter IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Levade for pointing out some mistakes I overlooked :)

**Chapter IV**

Fingon caught himself subconsciously expecting a mess in their household, considering the shock he had caused with his comeback. However, everyone tried to keep the pretence of normality and not to see the healers coming in and out. Maedhros had been moved to the room at the end of the corridor and peace and quiet reigned in that part of their house. No one went there unless they had to. No one wanted to listen to the screams of the wounded.

Maglor met with similar reactions those few times he left his brother’s room. Most of the elves pretended not to see him and Maglor too returned to the sick as soon as he could.

Fingon went into the room where they had first placed his cousin, right after their arrival. Their things still laid in the corner – his bag, the remains of his shirt and those rags Maedhros had worn... and the harp. The elf leaned and took the instrument with a pang of guilt. Its neck was dusty and stained with blood. Fingon took his harp to the kitchen, knowing it would be easiest there to find some cloth and water.

He sat at a free bench and started cleaning, forcing himself not to remember that what he was trying to get rid of was actually his cousin’s blood. Where the varnish was damaged, the blood went deep and Fingon doubted if he would be able to clean the wood.

“You’re insane, you know.” His sister’s voice dragged him suddenly from his thoughts.

Aredhel hugged him from behind with her slim arms and greeted him with a kiss. She must have just returned as she was still wearing her travelling outfit. Strands of hair escaped from her thick braid and fell loosely around her face.

“Irisse!” Fingon rose and embraced his sister. He had not seen her after his return, as Aredhel was gone hunting. “You know already?”

“Yes, Turukano told me yesterday.”

That explained why Fingon hadn’t seen his brother the previous day. He kept Maglor company when he could, so he must have missed Turgon’s departure.

Aredhel helped herself with a glass of wine and sat in front of her brother.

“How come you brought it back in one piece?” she asked, pointing at the harp. “Turukano said you lost your horse and most of your belongings.”

Fingon started recalling his journey and went back to cleaning, glad that Aredhel, unlike their brother, was not cross with him. He warned her carefully that Maedhros may not survive despite Maglor’s and the healers’ efforts, but he knew that sooner or later she would go and see for herself. He dropped his story when he saw Maglor at the doorstep.

His cousin had changed into the clothes his youngest brother had brought for him three days earlier, but the dark circles under his eyes and hair hanging loosely around his face told him the rest. Fingon doubted he had slept at all, because every time he checked, Maglor was sitting there by his brother’s side.

“Maitimo’s sleeping?” asked Fingon, inviting the singer to join them by the table, because Maglor seemed a bit lost.

“For the time being, yes.” Maglor bowed his head in greeting. “Alcarino threw me out after we finished changing all the dressings,” he admitted sheepishly; his voice sounded rough.

“No wonder he did.” Aredhel glanced at him skeptically with no discomfort, as if not many years had passed since they had last seen each other. “Have you eaten already? Because I’m hungry,” she stated when both of them shook their heads.

Fingon smiled to himself, watching his sister ostensibly taking the role of the hostess and seeing to their guest. Aredhel ordered a meal to be prepared for them and she left Maglor speechless when she placed a mug of hot milk with honey in front of him.

They spoke freely, mostly because Aredhel behaved like their cousin’s visit was something normal, and Maglor worried too much about his brother to feel hampered. He ate quickly and returned to Maedhros with a bowl of mashed soup, deaf to the suggestion that he too could use some sleep.

xxx

“Kill me.” Another moan, quiet, barely a whisper. His brother’s sharp face, tightened with pain, with skin almost breaking at  the cheekbones.

Maglor fought the urge to cover his ears, tightened one of his hands on the bedclothes; the other he kept on his brother’s face, stroking gently his dry skin, though with little hope. His need for touch was strong, the heat of the burning cheeks remained him that Maedhros was still alive.

Fifth day it was already. Five days of fever they could not fight off, when Maedhros either slept restlessly or hallucinated without regaining consciousness. The worst thing was that they were not always able to make him swallow his medicines and they were afraid he would choke if they tried forcing some strong painkillers. So when the herbs stopped working, pain was all that got to Maedhros’s tormented mind.

“Kill me.” A sigh, barely audible. Maglor already knew that his brother would tire soon and become motionless. Even so, Maedhros’s pleas rang in his ears.

He couldn’t bear it. He rose and rushed out on the corridor, hoping to get some air; the weariness started taking over him. He didn’t sleep and barely ate since he had learned Maedhros was alive. And these pleas... Maglor would do everything to get him better, he would fulfil every request, but for goodness sake, not this one!

Hot tears stung in his eyes. Maglor leaned against the wall by the door and hid his face in his hands; self-contempt crept again from the corner of his mind. He could never meet that certain request, even if he had been the one standing in Fingon’s place by that cliff and had a choice between shooting or leaving him, he could not have done it. Not Maedhros, not his brother. _‘But you could have left him there in captivity,”_ reminded him his ruthless conscience. _‘And you are doing it again.’_

The wounded moaned again and only that made Maglor return to him. Maedhros no longer clenched his fingers, but he kept scratching on the mattress until his damaged fingertips bled again. Maglor knelt beside him and grabbed his hand, cursing his own weakness. HIs brother had been doing that since the previous day; no wonder, when his sunburnt skin started to peel.

Maedhros must have felt someone touching him, because his face froze in grimace of pain and he whimpered.

“Kill... me...”

“No, Maitimo,” said Maglor quietly, his voice breaking. “Don’t ask me to do that. There’s no longer need for that. You are safe now,” he whispered fervently; he was unable to speak louder.

He sat on his heels beside the bed, his hand never letting go of his brother. Maedhros must have tired himself, for he calmed and fell asleep with his fingers clenched on Maglor’s hand. The singer leaned his head and placed his forehead on the mattress, using the moment of peace while it lasted. He didn’t want to sleep, fearing Maedhros’s state could worsen and he would miss it. This way of rest had to do.

The pleas Maedhros had been repeating still rang in his ears. Maglor moved closer so that he could rest his cheek next to his hand; tears run down his face and he swallowed the sobs as not to disturb the peace. That was something he hadn’t told Amras when they had spoken shortly the previous day, but he suspected his youngest brother had caught a bit. But right now Maglor didn’t feel like worrying about that.

 He must have fallen asleep despite his intentions, because he almost jumped when he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t look up though, instead he glanced sleepily at his brother, making sure Maedhros was still resting. Maglor himself must not have slept too long, because the mattress was still wet from his tears.

“You should get some rest.”

Maglor jumped on his feet when he heard not Fingon or Alcarino he expected, but Fingolfin.

“Nolofinwe,” he bowed his head, but he didn’t manage to force anything more decent than a whisper from his throat. His singing was so far the only thing that managed to calm Maedhros a bit, so he had been singing till his throat went sore. He could only hope he would regain his voice before Maedhros start hallucinating again.

Fingolfin came here for the first time since Maglor sat by his brother. So far he had kept his distance to the point that Feanor’s son had not even met him on the corridor, so now his presence in the sickroom was all the more surprising. But there was compassion in his uncle’s eyes rather than anger and grief, though Maglor expected distaste, like from Turgon.

Before he had a chance to say anything appropriate, Maedhros stirred and sighed painfully, his thin fingers scratching on the bed. Maglor momentarily forgot about his uncle and fussed around his brother. He gave him some herbs, grateful that the wounded was able to swallow, then remained seated at the edge of the bed, as Maedhros seemed to relax a bit when he was leaned against his chest.

“I cannot, Nolofinwe,” whispered Maglor and he finally looked at his uncle. “You see that I can’t.”

Fingolfin just nodded and dragged himself a chair closer to the bed.

“He’s not getting better,” Maglor continued. “For a moment I thought that now that he’s here, with us....” he trailed off. “We’re losing him, Nolofinwe. The healers are running out of ideas, even Alcarino can’t do much more. Every day, every fit of illusions leave him weaker. If he stops swallowing his medicines, we won’t be able to do anything. So please, don’t tell I should rest, because if Maitimo dies...”

“Maitimo is still alive, Makalaure.” Fingolfin pointed out. “The healers gave him small chances for surviving the first day and look how much time has already passed.”

“Alcarino claims that if nothing changes, he won’t make it. Angband didn’t kill him, the fever will.”

“And if you let such dark thoughts burden your mind, the Enemy will finish not only Nelyafinwe, but you and your brothers as well.” Fingolfin cut him off sharply. “It is his doing, to cause doubt when there is still hope. Maitimo is still breathing.” The elder elf gently stroked Maedhros’s hand.

“It’s hard to have any hope when you see him,” muttered Maglor.

“Maitimo is stubborn, like everyone else in this family.” Fingolfin smiled without joy.

It was hard to disagree with this statement, starting from Finwe and Feanor, ending at the youngest Amras. The journey their uncle and cousins had made also said a bit about the rest of their family. But still...

“It may not be enough,” said Maglor and glanced up. “But it doesn’t mean we won’t try everything.”

Fingolfin just smiled lightly at that cheekiness dragged from under the thick layers of weariness.

“It seems that Alcarino has left you something for your throat, Kano,” he reminded, changing the subject and picking a mug from the nightstand.

Maglor stirred, surprised to be called this way. Only his brothers called him that, and recently also Fingon. It was high time to remember that there were more of their family members around here...

“Drink,” repeated Fingolfin calmly when Maglor didn’t take the mug from him. “Irisse said she would come here soon, she will watch over Maitimo. Take a nap while he sleeps. Who knows when your singing will be needed again.”

His uncle lacked the stare Alcarino had, the one that made Maglor feel like an elfling again, but his arguments seemed legit. And besides, Fingolfin had just caught him dozing off, so Maglor truly could not trust himself. He really had to rest a bit, he didn’t even dare to think what could happen while he fell asleep uncontrollably.

 


	6. Chapter V

**Chapter V**

Maedhros was still alive.

A week had passed, then another. The wounded had not regained consciousness and he had kept muttering nonsense, but his fever had lessened and they were been able to control it. Maglor had a feeling as if the wounds didn’t change at all and when he shared this thought with Alcarino, the healer agreed with him. Despite that, he said that things were going better than could have been expected, judging by those first days. According to him, Maedhros had to regain at least a bit of his strength for his body to be able to start healing the wounds. So they kept feeding the wounded elf with soups and strengthening potions and thankfully  Maedhros was swallowing them. And he lived, still lived and that was enough for Maglor.

Alcarino reassured him that Maedhros needed time and decided that his presence was not strictly necessary in Fingolfin’s settlement. He wished to go back home and Maglor agreed, knowing that he would still have his uncle’s healers. He understood that Alcarino might have had enough of that ostensible aversion most of the elves had to both of them. Maglor could have been worried about his brother, but he was neither blind nor deaf. So if he could spare any further unpleasantness to the old friend of his family without harming his brother, he let him go.

Maedhros was calm and quiet and Maglor got caught by his other duties. During those two weeks Amras was his only link to their settlement. The redhead came regularly every third day and waited patiently for his brother to get some information about Maedhros and give Maglor the most important news from home. He claimed nothing interesting was going on, but Maglor was a bit worried when he heard that it was Celegorm who was responsible for trading with the wood elves. Time for harvest was coming and the Noldor, though they had their camp well reinforced, still didn’t get enough crops and they bought parts of their supplies from their neighbours. So when the sixth day passed since Amras’s last visit, Maglor risked leaving Maedhros in healers’ care and went home to check what was going on.

It turned out he shouldn’t have worried. Their settlement was still standing and his brothers fared well. Alcarino had told them much more than Maglor, so Amras was not in hurry with another visit and went with Caranthir to explore the nearby hills. They had been working on preparing maps from some time and he had neglected that in the last weeks. Celegorm’s trading with Moriquendi went well, so Maglor accepted their arrangements. However, there was an unpleasant surprise waiting for him in Fingolfin’s settlement.

It was bad.

Maglor cursed his duties that had kept him home for the entire day and then the whole night, as his brothers had opposed his riding alone in dark. Celegorm and Curufin had forced him to go to sleep and failed to wake him at dawn despite his orders. They had suggested one of them could go instead of Maglor, alone, but he would not take that risk. Amras had almost pleaded him and perhaps Fingon would have got his father’s permission to let him enter, but in case of his youngest brother Maglor was overly cautious and would not send him to unknown.

That his brother’s state had worsened during his absence, Maglor learned as soon as he stepped into Fingolfin’s house; rough screams of the wounded echoed on the corridor. When the singer ran into the sickroom, two healers were holding Maedhros on the bed to stop his tossing. His strength surprised Maglor, but he had no opportunity to appreciate that, just like he took no comfort from the fact that his brother’s eyes were open. Valar! Maglor had pleaded so many times for his brother to finally wake, but those big, hollow eyes were clouded with terror and emptiness, and the fading screams proved well enough what Maedhros must have been seeing; most certainly not friends and his brother.

Long time had passed before Maglor managed to soothe Maedhros. I didn’t help that Fingon was absent as well and for the entire day there was nobody whose presence the eldest son of Feanor acknowledged at least a bit. As a result the healers tied him to the bed. Maglor was shocked to learn that, but they explained they had done so to prevent him from tearing his wounds open again when he tossed. It took Maglor almost half a day to get to him enough to make him cease struggling. It was the washing that finally helped.

Water. Maglor was surprised to discover that apart from his singing the touch of damp cloth worked quite well. The cool compress on the head seemed to bring relief and Maedhros was usually quiet and motionless every time he was being washed. He never struggled against that wet cloth like he escaped any other kind of touch, so Maglor washed him more frequently than it was needed, gently caressing his face, neck and arms.

Despite all the efforts the wounded remained restless and seemed unable to sleep long. The next three days were full of tense awaiting when the sleep would turn into illusions and painful sighs into screaming. Maedhros seemed more aware than he had been before; enough to remember the captivity, as Maglor thought, but not enough to wake. His younger brother could do nothing but watch him.  Maedhros struggled and sobbed, and when he was left alone, he tore his bandages with this tossing. Maglor had made that mistake just once, when he went to the kitchen to fetch something to eat. When he returned, they had to redress the wounds and hold the wounded, though Maedhros reacted with panic to any kind of restrain.

Maglor was grateful he was able to do anything at all. After three days his throat was yet again dry and sore, but at least his brother slept. He himself was seated by the bed and kept humming out of habit.

“You sound weird.”

Maglor rose his head and glanced at the door where the child’s voice came from. Despite her bold words, the girl standing at the doorstep didn’t get inside and just kept staring at the sons of Feanor with curiosity and a bit of anxiety. She had changed since Maglor had last seen her, she would reach his arm if he stood up. Her golden hair were elegantly braided into a crown, but the edge of her pale blue dress was wet and her shoes sandy.

“Itaril.” Maglor smiled tiredly at the girl. “You may come in,” he invited her, covering Maedhros to hide what he could from the child’s eyes.

Idril came closer and after a moment of hesitation sat on the floor with her legs crossed, tucking her dress in a funny way.

“How do you do that, uncle?” she asked. “That he stops screaming? When you were not here, he kept screaming all night.”

“I know.” Maglor winced.

To his horror, Idril told him with childish boldness what exactly had happened during his absence. She had not been in the sickroom before, her father had not allowed it, but when the doors were open, she had heard both screams and the healers’ conversations.

“Uncle FIn... Did uncle Findekano truly have to cut him off the cliff?” she asked suddenly. “That’s what they say at the camp, that Nelyafinwe has lost both his hand and his spirit there, in captivity.” Idril looked at Maglor with expectancy and curiosity.

Maglor glanced at his brother, but he was sleeping soundly, so there was no chance for an excuse from replying the child. Because what exactly could he tell her?

He was rescued by Turgon, who came abruptly to the room, clearly displeased when he saw his daughter with Feanor’s son.

“Itaril, what are you doing here?”

“Nothing, Atto.” Idril reassured him hastily, rising from the floor and smoothing her dress. “I just...”

“Off you go. You’re already late,” her father ordered her coldly and led her out of the room.

Turgon’s raised voice dragged Maedhros from his sleep and the wounded yet again  looked blindly at the ceiling, tense but unaware of his company. Maglor helped him change position and he would have forgotten about his cousin, when Turgon spoke.

“Do you not see it is pointless?”

Maglor turned. Turgon was standing by the door and watching them seriously.

“I beg your pardon?” asked Maglor absentmindedly. He wished Turgon would go before they start talking, he had no desire for his company.

“Everything you’re doing.” Turgon didn’t pass the doorstep, but he was watching closely both sons of Feanor. “You don’t see it, do you? Neither Fin nor you. He is not getting better,” he pointed at the wounded elf.

“He is better already,” opposed Maglor. “He is...” he replied, like an enchantment that prevented him from leaving his brother’s side.

“He is not and you know it,” Turgon pointed out ruthlessly. “Maitimo’s fea is far away from here and you are just prolonging his suffering. If Fin wanted to be merciful, he should have killed him there.”

Maglor rose on his feet, his heart missed a beat or two. With but a few words Turgon managed to ruin all the hope he had been carefully crafting so that he would not fall to despair. Maglor could not, would not let in the thought that Maedhros would not recover and Turgon had just spat that into his face.

“He has lived so far,” he hissed; his voice trembled with emotions. “Maitimo survived something he shouldn’t have and so he will survive now. Fin saved his life,” he raised his voice only to quiet when Maedhros shook and tried to cringe.

“Findekano has brought home an empty shell, you just don’t want to see it.” Turgon didn’t bother to lower his voice. “When a horse breaks its leg in the mountains, you kill it so it would not suffer. So why do you insist on prolonging your brother’s torment? It would have been better for everyone if Findekano killed him,” said Turgon. “Especially for Nelyafinwe.”

That’s when Maglor lost it.

xxx

Maglor stood with his face stern, holding his brother in his arms, covered in a cloak. Neither he nor Maedhros were comfortable, judging from the whimpers. Next to them Aredhel was arguing with Turgon and they were all being watched by a growing group of elves. That was how Fingon found them when he rode in.

“What is going on here?” The eldest son of Fingolfin glanced at his siblings, then at his cousin. He jumped off his horse and gave the reigns to the nearest elf. “What is the meaning of this? Kanafinwe, have you lost your mind?!” He shouted without meaning it, because it was clear Maglor intended to leave their settlement with his brother there and then.

“I do not intend to risk that someone would show mercy to Maitimo and free his fea from his tormented body during my absence,” answered Maglor grimly, looking at Turgon.

“You’ve all insane,” Fingon groaned in despair, glancing from one to another.

“The only person out of his mind is Nelyafinwe,” Turgon joined in. “And don’t you look at me like that, I just told Makalaure what I’ve told you. If you wanted to be merciful, you should have killed him,” he pointed carelessly at Maedhros who seemed more and more distressed as he moved in his brother’s arms so that Maglor was barely able to hold him.

“You are talking about your king!” The son of Feanor blasted and tightened his protective grip around his elder brother. He must have hurt him with that movement, for Maedhros moaned louder.

“He will never be my king,” Turgon spat out with more contempt than anger. Out of the two of those, Fingon preferred the first, for it hit directly in Maglor’s pride, but did not aggravate the mood in their settlement.

“Kanafinwe, get back inside,” suggested Fingon. _‘For Valar’s sake, get out of sight,’_ he wished to add. He hoped his cousin would understand.

 “We are going back home,” stated Maglor and he tightened his grip. “We will no longer impend on your hospitality. Maitimo is strong enough to endure the journey home,” he said, but there was more weariness than offense in his voice. “I will be grateful if you help me, Findekano,” he stepped towards his mount, leaning over and whispering something to Maedhros.

“And you intend to put him on saddle?” asked Fingon. “No way.”

They stared at each other for a moment, judging. Fingon was first to give up when he saw the stubbornness of the usually sensible Maglor.   _‘Sensible for a son of Feanaro,’_ he corrected himself with grim humour and nodded.

“Wait, I will have the horses prepared.”

Maglor must have not expected agreement, because surprise reflected briefly on his face before he nodded in thanks. He stepped back and sat at the doorstep, placing his brother in position more comfortable for both of them.

Half an hour later he was riding through the gate, led off by unfriendly gazes. Fingon caught up with him soon, deciding that he would accompany him at least part of the way. Maglor expected reproach, but his cousin seemed reluctant to start a conversation, saying only that it would be safer to go together with the wounded, so they rode in silence. The rocking calmed Maedhros and he fell asleep, so they travelled without trouble.

They made perhaps a third of the distance when they saw a lone rider approaching them swiftly from behind the trees. Maglor recognized Amras with little surprise. The youngest son of Feanor must have seen the horses led by his brother and realise what or rather who they were carrying, because he broke into gallop.

“He’s swift,” remarked Fingon. “A magnificent creature.”

“Amras loves fast horses,” replied Maglor, accepting the safe and neutral topic to talk about. It was best if his brother didn’t ride right into such tense atmosphere. “They agree in that matter with Tyelko, but Amras is lighter.” Maglor stopped to wait for his brother. He intended to ride along the lake shore where it was easier to lead the two horses.

Amras stopped abruptly with horror written all over his face. He ignored his brother and cousin, swiftly jumped off his saddle and went straight to the cocoon hanging between the two horses to lean over the wounded. Maglor, weary as he was, needed a moment to realise what his brother must have thought.

“I’m taking Nelyo home. Alive,” he said quietly, but Amras must have already seen for himself that Maedhros was breathing. He straightened and stared at the motionless face of the wounded, terrified.

“Kano... What have they done to him...”

Maglor too dismounted and embraced his youngest brother. Amras was close to tears and that made him realize that his information had not prepared his brothers for the sight of their eldest. Not at all.

“We are taking Maitimo home,” he repeated.

Amras nodded absentmindedly, with his eyes still glued to Maedhros, but then he sobered and looked sharply at Maglor.

“Why today? Why not tell us first? Why are you coming alone?”

“Later, Amras,” Maglor cut him off and coughed; his voice failed him again.

His younger brother must have remembered about Fingon’s presence, because he just nodded and asked no more. He mounted back, but kept glancing longingly at Maedhros.

Fingon spared Maglor awkward requests and decided he could turn back, now that there were two of them. He only forced Maglor into promise that he would be let known at once, should there be any change in his cousin’s condition.

The two sons of Feanor went on, taking their eldest brother home.


	7. Chapter VI

**Chapter VI**

They came to their settlement with the last light of the setting sun. Maglor pushed Amras to go faster when they were within the guards’ reach to forewarn their brothers, so the gate waited for him wide open. The Noldor he passed followed him with their eyes, but they just stepped out of his way without a single word. Maglor didn’t care, he hastened to their home; Maedhros was hallucinating again.

They had made about half of the way when it turned out that moving their wounded brother was a big mistake. Maedhros grew restless, the movement must have caused him pain or arouse bad memories, because he pleaded them to stop and his unseeing eyes wandered again. Maglor could either stop and set a camp in the middle of nowhere or swallow his brother’s moans and continue travelling. They decided with Amras to go on, so that Maedhros would soon be in Alcarino’s care.

The singer expected his brothers to come forward, but only Caranthir met him by the gate. He was panting slightly and was dressed in working clothes stained with lime. Celegorm and Curufin were waiting by the house and Amras was nowhere in sight.

Maglor dismounted, led the horses to the doors and only then he realised his younger brothers were still standing, stunned.

“Tyelko, help me,” he ordered. “We will take him with those blankets, hold the front. Moryo, grab the other side and I will untie it all. Where’s Amras?”

“Making the bed with Tyelpe.”

“Good.” Maglor mustered some energy when he saw his brothers were too dazed to organize themselves. “Has anyone told Alcarino we’re coming? No? Curvo, go and fetch him. Alright, now careful with his hand...”

Maglor was surprised he found some strength to order his brothers around. Together they carried Maedhros to a room and placed him on the bed. The rumour around him woke the wounded, but if Maglor hoped that familiar voices of his brothers would call him back, he misjudged. Maedhros followed them all with his unseeing eyes and escaped from any kind of touch, so before Alcarino came, Maglor was yet again sitting and holding the wounded, while his brothers stood confused, not knowing what to do.

Curufin led Alcarino and the healer, along with Maglor, took care of the wounded elf with terrifying ease. Caranthir was not needed, as Amras fussing around was more than enough, so he got out of the way and just stared. He looked as if through a thick glass, as if all that he had within his hand’s reach was in fact farther away.

Caranthir remembered when they rescued their father. Maedhros attacked their enemy so fiercely that the orcs fled before him and the fiery beasts left too, and so the sons regained Feanor, but it was too late for him. They dressed his wounds, Maedhros insisted, but Father wouldn’t let them disarm him. They carried him with his sword by his side. He was dying for a few hours, they knew that, just like he did, then he made them stop, vanquished and burned.

This elf here, this skeleton with paper-thin skin, was dying for the third week. Or was it longer? Caranthir had an absurd feeling that he would not stand it if Maglor called this wreck _Maitimo_ one more time. To be honest, he felt betrayed. Where was Maitimo? This elf here could not be him, even the colour of his hair was wrong, it wasn’t the deep copper of their Russandol... And Maglor said he would bring him back home, he sent Amras to warn them, he made fuss... And now he was keeping that lie he had been feeding them for the past three weeks. What had Fingolfin done to delude him so?

The wounded was quiet at first, but when Alcarino and Maglor started redressing his wounds, his features tightened with pain and the moan that escaped his lips was something Caranthir had never heard, though he had already fought one battle. He thought he knew what the Enemy’s servants were capable of, but now he realised how wrong he was. With every uncovered bandage he was more and more aware just what exactly Morgoth’s subjects could do with an elf if they wished. Because Caranthir had no doubts that this wounded creature was an elf.

And then the elf opened his eyes – big, hollow, shining. Grey, just like his own. Caranthir saw the brother he was desperately waiting for.

“Maitimo...” he groaned. The name seemed to break the spell that made him unable to move. “Maitimo!”

“Yes, Moryo, that’s our Maitimo,” Maglor confirmed sadly.

Caranthir came closer, at first overwhelmed, but the longer he looked at the weakly struggling elf and kept finding proofs that this was indeed Maedhros, the more his heart froze. And then it burst with boiling hatred, heated with every moan and sob of the wounded. Caranthir spat curses at the Enemy, ones he had no idea he knew and probably couldn’t repeat later. His world narrowed to what was left of their beloved, beautiful Maitimo and to the Enemy hundreds of miles away.

“Morifinwe, that’s enough!”

Strong, cool order from Alcarino made him stop mid-sentence like a slap. Next thing he knew was Celegorm grabbing him tightly by his arms and immobilizing him. Caranthir reacted involuntarily.

“Let go of me!” he shouted and struggled, though he knew he had no chance with his elder brother. “Don’t you see what they’ve done to him?!”

“Yes, I do, so let us help him,” retorted Celegorm sharply. “Get out and calm down.”

“You cannot order...” Caranthir stopped, because his raised voice made Maedhros struggle in panic, making it impossible for Alcarino to remove the dressings from his shoulder.

“You will get out or I will make you,” repeated Celegorm firmly and true to his words forced his younger brother through the doors.

Caranthir broke free from his grip and stormed through the corridor. He needed some air, he felt like he was suffocating, raging, his blood seemed to be boiling in his veins. He stopped once he was outside and only then he realised that Celegorm followed him instead of staying.

“I’ll kill them’,” growled Caranthir, knowing his brother could hear him. “Every orc, every Balrog, every filthy creature that dares to stick out a nose from Angbando. Let them perish, let Ulmo drown them in his waters,” he kept muttering as he paced nervously. If he could, if he knew where to go, he would  have jumped on his horse and  gone hunting. He loathed helplessness and shame and self-contempt made him restless.

 “You will not be alone in this, trust me,” hissed Celegorm; he was controlling himself just a bit better than his brother. “But not now, right now we are needed here. Calm down.”

“I can’!” Caranthir turned with sped that surprised Celegorm and his fist collided violently with the freshly bleached wall so strongly that his knuckles went numb. How could he go back there and watch Maedhros, knowing he had done nothing to spare him tortures, and now couldn’t even bring him trophies of his revenge? _‘As if it could change anything,’_ he reflected grimly as soon as the thought crossed his mind.

Celegorm grabbed his wrist again before Caranthir damaged his hand with another blow. He said nothing, just stared until his younger brother relaxed his tensed muscles.

“Don’t think I don’t wish to grab my sword,” said Celegorm and let go of him. “But not now, Moryo.”

Caranthir only nodded, unsure if he could stop himself from cursing if he opened his mouth. Instead, he just massaged his sore knuckles, wincing at the sight of fresh blood on the white wall.

“Shall we?” asked Celegorm after a while. “I don’t know how about you, but I’d rather know why Makalaure has brought Maitimo today with no warning. Have you seen Alcarino? He’s not pleased.”

Caranthir didn’t see, but he just nodded again, because his brother was right. Something was wrong here.

 “Go change your clothes, because Alcarino will throw you out once he gets a closer look,” added Celegorm, reminding him he was still wearing working clothes stained with lime. “I’ll wait for you.”

By the doors they passed Celebrimbor, who, rather green on his face, ran hastily to the forge. Caranthir did as his brother told him and went to his room to get rid of his dirty clothes. He grabbed a clean shirt and took a moment to smooth his loose braid, forcing himself to calm down with every movement, though he wished he could grab his sword instead of a comb.

Celegorm was waiting for him at the corridor and Caranthir felt his gaze on himself, before his elder brother nodded approvingly and allowed him to go back to Maedhros. Amras ceased hustling and was sitting at the windowsill, Curufin passed them with a bowl of fresh water. The healer was bandaging Maedhros’s torso and he just glanced at the sons of Feanor, but  said nothing, seeing they were relatively calm. Maglor was muttering something soothingly and he quieted only when Celegorm spoke.

“I think you owe us some explanation, Makalaure,” he remarked.

“And I hope you had good reasons to justify this journey, Kanafinwe,” Alcarino added abruptly. “You risked a lot, Nelyafinwe is not strong enough yet to take such ride well, as you might have seen.”

Maglor would have to be blind to not see it; for the past quarter Alcarino had been pointing several  wounds that worsened since he had last seem Maedhros. The singer glanced at his younger brothers, staring at him expectantly, then  his elder, cuddled closely to him. In a few short words he explained what happened after he came back to their uncle’s settlement and how badly Maedhros reacted to his absence.

“Turukano suggested it would be better to kill Maitimo rather than make him live in torment,” he added at last.

“He wouldn’t dare...!” whispered Amras, shocked, but there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

“If only he tried!” Caranthir exploded again, but Celegorm warningly placed his heavy hand on his arm.

“Shhhh!” hissed Amras disapprovingly, seeing the wounded struggled and moaned softly.

“No, I guess he wouldn’t,” admitted Maglor. Now, when he was among his brothers, when he had Maedhros back home, he could see how uncomfortable the journey must have been, the whole idea made much less sense than before.

“Turukano was wrong.” Alcarino joined their conversation. He finished bandaging and covered Maedhros with a blanket. “Your decision was unwise, Kanafinwe, but the consequences are not severe. Don’t lose hope.”

“Maitimo’s home. Even if we have to wait I don’t know how long, he won’t be alone.” Curufin, silent so far, spoke suddenly. He knelt beside the bed and gently kissed his eldest brother’s hand.

“Just keep quiet,” Alcarino reminded them one more time. “Maitimo needs to rest.”

The healer left and thick silence fell between the brothers. Maglor remained on the bed, humming softly, though his throat was raw to the point he was barely audible; but it was enough for the wounded to relax finally and fell asleep.

“How?” asked Amras abruptly.  He was still sitting at the windowsill, his eyes never off his two eldest brothers. “ How could he survive this?” His voice broke.

Maglor raised his head to look at his brothers. They stood, not knowing what to do. Only Curufin bustled around, unable to hold his hands still; he kept shifting the herbs left by the healer rather than putting them in order. But Maedhros was sleeping and Maglor didn’t really feel like standing and going to find some occupation for his brothers; he had no answer for Amras.

Alcarino’s return broke the stupor. The healer passed the brothers and gave Maglor a mug.

“Drink before you lose your voice completely.”

“Thank you.” The singer took a sip, but he recognized the sleeping draught; he has been giving it to Maedhros too often not to see it.

“Drink,” repeated Alcarino. “I will stay with Nelyafinwe till morning with one of your brothers. You are going to sleep.”

“I am not going anywhere,” said Amras at once, when Maglor hesitated over his mug. “Go get some rest, Kano.”

Maglor surrendered and emptied the mug with a few sips. He rose on his feet a bit unsteadily and allowed Celegorm to put an arm around him, to lead him to the doors, as if not wanting to leave any space for second thoughts.

“If Nelyo hallucinates or tosses again, wake me up,” ordered Maglor at the doorstep. “But don’t bind him with anything.”

Four brothers stared back at him with resentment at such thought.

“What?!”

“Just go to sleep, Makalaure.” Celegorm pushed him through the doors. “You’re making no sense.”

They left together and Celegorm guided him straight to his bed. Maglor didn’t hear when his brother left his room.

 

 

 


	8. Chapter VII

**Chapter VII**

All the time Maglor spent in his uncle’s settlement he couldn’t wait when he would take his brother home, once he stopped worrying that every Maedhros’s breath might be his last. The resentment of Fingolfin’s people burdened him and despite Fingon’s and Aredhel’s friendly attitude, as well as Alcarino’s presence for most of the time, Maglor felt very lonely. The awareness that the general antipathy was well justified didn’t help, nor did the atmosphere of his departure.

As it turned out, the mood in their household wasn’t much better. Maglor had a feeling as if his brothers suddenly had a lot to do, like they were always busy, and the atmosphere was so thick it could be cut with a knife. No one escaped his duties, they took turns in taking care of Maedhros. Maglor found himself having such an abstract thing like free time, but his brothers needed time to adjust and it was not an easy task. The windows were kept wide open and yet Maglor felt like he was going to suffocate. Guilt and shame hung in the air, present in the glances the brothers exchanged or in comments dropped to no one particular. They failed and it was eating them.

Celegorm was unable to stay still and disappeared for entire days hunting or supervising the harvests, making sure the elves working on their fields were safe. He would come back in the evening and sat with Maedhros, but one time he didn’t return for night with no word of warning. At least Maglor didn’t have to worry about Amras, because he had enough notes and sketches to sit down and work on his maps. Caranthir took upon himself supervising the deliveries from Moriquendi and Curufin almost disappeared in his forge, unless he was staying with Maedhros. He sent his son to help Caranthir and kept working for long hours. When asked, he barely answered and would not say what he was working at. Maglor ignored it for the first few days, regretting only that Celegorm was ever absent, because he was most likely to get from Curufin what was bothering him. Maglor had too many things to do and he dropped the subject, assuming that his brother simply needed time to accept the situation and working in the forge was his way to deal with it.

He was forced to change his mind after four days, when he accidentally bumped on Curufin in the doors. His younger brother was cursing quietly under his breath and a wet cloth placed around his hand was a visible proof just how distracted he must have been; it had been long time since he had last burned his fingers.

Reminding Curufin that he was making mistakes their father warned them as twenty-year-old boys seemed to work. Next morning Curufin saddled his horse and went with Celegorm, and when they came back, he was wet and dirty, but visibly calmer.

xxx

Celegorm did not have Maglor’s patience, so sitting with his sleeping brother quickly left him restless. He should be glad Maedhros was sleeping and not disputing with illusions, but when he lied so still, he seemed almost dead.

Celegorm stood up and started pacing around the room to waste his energy somehow. He wasn’t Maglor to use the quiet moment to write poetry.

“You could wake up, Maitimo,” he said with light reproach, not overly quietly; he knew only Maglor was present in the house, probably sleeping if he had some common sense to do so after a restless night by the sickbed. “Come on, brother. You’ve made us wait far too long, it’s not fair. I don’t have the patience.” He came to the table and started rearranging some sketches; Curufin must have been planning something when he watched Maedhros. “Kano will wore himself out if it goes like that,” he adjusted the curtains. “And do you know that Amras is crying when he thinks no one can see him?” This wasn’t exactly true, Amras cried just once, a week earlier, when Maglor brought Maedhros home, but they were all close to tears then. “Maitimo, how much longer?”

“Finished?” Came a quiet reply.

Celegorm almost dropped a lamp from the table when he turned around and looked right into his brother’s eyes, open and lucid. Maedhros met his gaze with his own, tired but evidently conscious.

“Maitimo...” Celegorm was at loss first, but then he smiled widely and found himself by the bed with a few long steps. “If I knew I have to shout at you, I would have done so long time ago,” he said merrily, aware that he wasn’t making much sense, but too overjoyed to care.

Maedhros muttered something and tried to move. His brother elevated him a bit, adjusted the cushions and gave him some herbs. The sick elf drank eagerly, though it seemed that this plain task wore him out.

“Give me a second,” Celegorm jumped to the door, opened it and leaned out. “Kano!” He called and returned to his brother.

“Others?”whispered Maedhros, searching for his brother with his eyes.

“They are all well, don’t worry,” Celegorm reassured him at once, sitting at the edge of the bed. “Just nobody’s home now, apart from Kano. Where is he?” he glanced at the door. “I’d better go and wake him, or else he’ll never forgive me.”

“Stay. Let sleep.” Maedhros stopped him.

“Whatever you wish. But it will be your fault if he shouts at me later,” Celegorm smiled. “He sat by your side for a month, he’ll be disappointed.”

“Let sleep... you said... tired...”

“And so are you, right?” realised his younger brother, though smile never left his lips. Right now Maedhros could go back to sleep even for another day, for all Celegorm cared, now that he had finally woken and recognised his brother.

“Mmm...” The wounded closed his eyes and Celegorm, not knowing what to do, started telling him about the plans their brothers had for the following days. He missed the moment when Maedhros fell asleep again, but his familiar voice must have reassured him he was safe.

xxx

The commotion around supper was what woke Maglor. He realised someone had even covered him with a blanket, and the darkness in the room told him just how late it was.

“You were supposed to wake me!” Maglor greeted his brothers angrily as soon as he came to the room where they usually dined. “It’s second time now, Tyelko!”

The said brother glanced at him from his soup and grinned joyfully in response.

“Sorry, I had my orders from the highest rank.”

 “I thought i am the highest rank in here,” snorted Maglor. He combed his hair with his fingers and tied them loosely behind, when he realised what his brother had said. “No...”

“Yes,” Caranthir joined in with a smile.

“You do not disobey when Maitimo orders you twice,” replied Celegorm, visibly pleased with his brother’s reaction.  “I did call you though. Not my fault you slept so heavily.”

“And no, nobody added anything to your wine,” said Curufin and filled a goblet for his brother.

“And that was supposed to reassure me, right?” asked Maglor, sitting down. Only now he saw the excitement of his brothers, so he glanced suspiciously at his wine. “Maitimo? Is Amras with him?”

Celegorm nodded and referred the short conversation with their eldest brother. Maglor listened as he helped himself with the nearest dish. He ate without caring what it was, until he could sit no longer. He grabbed what turned to be some leftover pancake and went to finish some minor tasks before spending the night by Maedhros’s side.

xxx

Maglor liked sitting by his brother in the evenings. He felt calmer with Maedhros in sight, and the room was a quiet place to work in. His brothers tried to persuade him that he no longer had to be with Maedhros all the time, but he got used to that in Fingolfin’s settlement. Caranthir was first to give up and he ostensibly brought a second bed to the room if, as he claimed, Maglor had moved there.

Right now Amras was sleeping on that bed. He had fallen asleep sketching, barely moving the paper away, so as a result the quill had slipped from his fingers and stained the sheet. Maglor smiled with sentiment when he saw that and took the tools away.

When they were children, they used to sleep in various ways. First he was the one to migrate to Maedhros, then his younger brothers often ended up sleeping with their two eldest. Celegorm and Curufin tended to quarrel who would sleep in which bed and Caranthir had a period when he learned who was the best singer in their family and would react violently every time Maglor lost patience and tried to get rid of him. Maedhros had his bed regularly occupied when they were banished with their father. The twins used to sleep in his bed and Maglor often found his elder brother laughing, as he just shrugged his shoulders and went out for long hours, not sleeping at all.

None of them were adolescents now, and even if they had been when they had come o Middle-Earth, especially the youngest, the new home and war quickly forced Caranthir and Amras to grow up.

Maglor sat by his elder brother and gently stroked his bony hand; looking at Amras right now only reminded him who was missing.

Maedhros stirred and moved his hand; his fingers curled in a weak clench.

“It’s alright, Maitimo, it’s just me,” Maglor muttered quietly and let go of his brother’s hand.

“Kano?” The wounded opened his eyes, found him with his gaze and for a long moment he simply stared.

Maglor just smiled but made no move, waiting for his brother to fully wake, remembering his stressful reaction to his touch. He had already gotten used to the sight of his brother, but Maedhros was seeing him for the first time in years.

“How are you feeling?” asked Maglor awkwardly, not really knowing what to say when his brother was staring at him like that.

“Awful,” muttered Maedhros and shifted. “You? Rested?” he asked suddenly, probably remembering his earlier talk with Celegorm.

“Of course,” Maglor smiled wider, relaxed a bit. “Do you want me to elevate you? Sit up perhaps?” he suggested. He waited for Maedhros to nod before he slipped his arm behind his back and rose him to half sitting position, adjusting the cushions.

Maedhros froze when his brother’s hand went out of his sight and stiffened completely when he felt it on his back, but he didn’t try to escape. His head was falling to Maglor’s arm, who saw this and sat closer by the cushions.

“You’re home,” he said calmly and sat there until Maedhros relaxed. He took back his arm, for it must have been uncomfortable.

“Long?” Maedhros dropped his attempts to raise his head. “Here?”

“For over a month,” answered Maglor, moving a bit to sit fully. “I guess you won’t remember much of it,” he added, not really sure where this conversation was going. He wanted to check how much Maedhros remembered, but not now. However, his brother seemed determined to learned just a bit.

“Finn... I remember Finn. And an eagle, huge, so close to the wall...” A grimace of pain ran through Maedhros’s face as he shut his eyes for a moment. “Then...?”

“Then you were here, with us,” Maglor rushed with reply, deciding that his brother would learn about the details later. “Are you hungry? Would you like to eat something?” he asked, changing the subject.

Maedhros’s hollow eyes widened with surprise, as if the mere concept of eating was foreign to him. Maglor hoped he himself controlled his expression better when he realised that this might have been true. Who knows when was the last time Maedhros had consciously eaten anything?

“There’s some soup in the kitchen, I can have it heated” he suggested softly. “There should be some warm bread at this hour.”

“Soup, yes... Why not...” Maedhros agreed quietly, shaking off the astonishment. “Bit higher, could you?” He asked after he failed to do it himself.

“Of course,” Maglor found some additional cushion. “Just wait a moment, I will ask for the soup. Do you want some bread...?” He paused as he saw his brother froze again.

With the movement, the blankets slipped enough to uncover his right hand. Maedhros was staring at his bandaged stump and seemed to have forgotten about his brother’s presence.

 “Maitimo?” Maglor gently placed his hand on his brother’s, with his intentions well visible.

Maedhros ignored him, still staring and trying to understand what he was seeing. Maglor didn’t push him; he had no idea what to say anyway. Until now he had just wanted his brother to wake and he hadn’t thought how to tell him what had happened. As it turned out, the problem solved itself.

The silence was finally broken by movement at the other side of the room. Amras woke and, seeing that Maedhros wasn’t sleeping, rose quickly with a joyful cry,

“Maitimo!” He got to his brother, leaned over him and kissed Maedhros in the forehead.

The wounded made a muffled sound, half cry half moan, and cringed. His thin shoulders shook as he tried to move towards Maglor.

Amras realised he had surprised his brother. He backed slowly, removing his hand he had earlier placed on the cushion next to Maedhros’s head.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he apologised, but then wide smile returned on his lips. “Valar, you’re awake! Finally!”

“Could you please go fetch some soup for Nelyo?” asked Maglor, seeing his brother’s discomfort. Two of them was too much.

“Sure.”

The two eldest brothers were left alone. Maedhros closed his eyes, as if keeping them open cost him too much effort. The room was barely lit, as Maglor turned off most of the lamps when Amras had fallen asleep. They sat in silence and Maglor worried that his brother fell asleep again, but the wounded opened his vigilant eyes when Amras returned. The youngest brother gave them soup and left, understanding that Maedhros was overwhelmed and there was no sense in troubling him.

“Do you want to try it?” asked Maglor gently.

With the first spoon Maedhros froze and stared at his brother utterly lost, so that Maglor started doubting if soup with chopped vegetables was a good idea. After a moment the wounded seemed to remember what to do, for he chewed slowly and swallowed.

“It’s good...” he sighed in disbelief.

Encouraged by his positive reaction, Maglor kept feeding him. Maedhros ate painfully slowly, but the next spoons didn’t cause such astonishment. So the wounded surprised Maglor when he suddenly pursed his lips and turned his head.

“Nelyo?” The singer tried to give him another bite before taking his hand away. “What’s wrong? Something hurts?”

Maedhros’s eyes were empty again, staring somewhere over Maglor’s shoulder, his face grimaced in pain. He seemed not to hear his brother.

‘No... please... no...” The wounded elf shut his eyes, his breath hastened. His good hand moved as if in attempt to push Maglor away.

“No, of course, whatever you wish.” Maglor put away the bowl and gently took Maedhros’s hand. “I will not force you to do anything. You don’t have to eat more,” he promised, drawing circles on his brother’s palm.

Maedhros’s breath slowed gradually as he calmed. Maglor waited until his chest was raising and falling peacefully before he gently laid him down.

“Sleep well.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think.


	9. Chapter VIII

**Chapter VIII**

The following days were full of anxious waiting. They all welcomed with hope every moment when Maedhros was conscious and lucid. Encouraged by his positive reaction to his first meal, they tried to give him various light dishes. Every time the wounded reacted almost like a child, tried the food and recalled long forgotten tastes. He usually didn’t finish his meals and fell asleep. He spoke little, almost nothing, because it wore him out. But he was certainly lucid sometimes and answered some questions.

Nevertheless, with every passing day the brothers realised that this tortured elf was not the Maitimo they remembered. It was understandable that Maedhros would fall asleep in the middle of conversation, but there were still times when he acted unpredictably. He would seek for the hand of the brother who was with him, only to shake a moment later and escape from the said hand caressing his hair. Maglor couldn’t help the feeling that the fea of their brother was somewhere there at the edge of consciousness, lurking uncertainly and testing the surroundings, only to run away at the slightest stress. Judging from Maedhros’s grimace and haunted gaze, he went straight back to the captivity.

They were catching him. Every day, bit by bit, they tried to capture their brother’s spirit and anchor it back in his body. Every small talk lasting longer than a quarter was another step to making Maedhros realise that he was safe, though Maglor sometimes thought they were still in a deep swamp. How else could they explain the fact that almost every day there was a moment when they needed to reassure him he was safe? Maedhros scared Curufin the most, when he was left alone for a moment. When the smith came back after a quarter at most, Maedhros welcomed him sobbing in relief, as if he thought long hours had passed and he had already lost hope to see his brother again.

And so every conversation was shadowed by nervous awaiting when Maedhros would stop answering and run away from them. For Maglor there was little difference between the present reality and the previous weeks, but Celegorm and Curufin couldn’t find themselves in this situation. Nevertheless, the younger brothers kept taking turns in looking after Maedhros to let him get used to them. And also because they needed to get used to him too.

xxx

“Did Tyelko see the eagle?” Asked Maedhros, once he was laying more comfortably on his side. It would be better to talk sitting, but the wounds on his back hurt and he needed to change position.

“Only from distance,” replied Curufin and shifted on his chair.

Unlike Maglor, he didn’t really know what to do, once there was nothing he could help with, but Maedhros was looking for distraction, anything to draw his attention from feeling awful and he was rested enough to start a conversation. The image of the giant eagle was written plainly in his memory, but he remembered nothing of what happened later. Today he felt well enough to finally ask about it.

“I bet he would give much to tame one like this.” The wounded stuck to the topic, his eves never leaving his brother, mostly because it pleased him to simply watch him; to watch anyone from his family.

“I suppose...” Curufin looked away. “But we saw him just from distance, he must have been even bigger,” he added, utterly unconvinced. “It was Findekano who had the opportunity to see him closer.”

“I know.” Maedhros still tried to look his brother in the eye, but Curufin consequently avoided his gaze, as if he didn’t know what to do. His behaviour intrigued Maedhros; he already knew Curufin was uncomfortable, but never to that degree, from what he had observed. “What happened later, Curvo? How many of you came?”

 Curufin shut his eyes and winced, as if he had been hit.

“One,” he muttered so quietly Maedhros barely heard him.

“One squad?” asked the eldest son of Feanor. “Risky, but maybe that’s why you succeeded.” Weird, how his own rescue seemed distant, as if they were not talking about him.

“Findekano. One Findekano,” Curufin spat out and finally looked at his brother. His cheeks were red, his eyes shining with tears, full of shame and guilt. “Not us, just he alone. He went to search for you, he found you and brought you back to us, the eagle carried you to their settlement at the other side of the lake. We knew not of his journey. He didn’t even tell his own father where he was going.” The last words Curufin almost shouted and then silenced abruptly.

“Oh...”

Maedhros felt his heart freezing, because he no longer saw his brother. The memory of the dungeons came clear and vivid, no, it was not a memory, he _was_ in these dungeons. He felt the cold wall behind his back, the shackles on his ankles so tight that they cut his muscles before he got thin. And the voice, he heard it as if it was only yesterday. _‘Your brothers abandoned you.’_

“Maitimo? No, don’t run away, please,” Curufin’s frantic voice came from distance. “Don’t do that again...”

Maedhros saw his brother sighed in relief when he looked at him, but then a flood of words came from his mouth. Apologies, explanations, apologies...

“Curufinwe, enough.”

His younger brother silenced, but he looked like he was about to choke on his words. He didn’t explode, though, like Caranthir would, but pressed his lips in a tight line so that he reminded Maedhros of their father.

“Leave me alone, Curvo. Please.” It wasn’t a request, but an order, and even though spoken with barely a whisper, Curufin obeyed, or rather took the chance to escape while he had it.

The eldest son of Feanor was left alone and suddenly the room became very quiet. Too quiet. The wounded elf laid curled on the bed, regretting he hadn’t asked his brother for another blanket, because the one that covered him gave him no comfort from the chill he felt. Maedhros recalled everything he learned from Curufin. So from all of his family only Fingon cared for him enough to try and rescue him... Not Maglor, not his brothers who had agreed with him that they should stick together, then, when their father’s madness was visible... And now they left him alone again... They wouldn’t tell anything when Maedhros asked about Fingon, Maglor only told him that he had sent a word to their cousin and that Fingon would surely come as soon as he can. But from where...?

Finally the door opened, though it seemed his brothers would not leave him alone; there was always one of them every time he woke. Maedhros sighed in relief when he saw Amras, but then he closed his eyes to let him know he didn’t wish for his company. His youngest brother got the message and respected it. He placed a big sheet of paper on the table, took his tools and started sketching, bent over his work. The wounded elf observed him for a moment with curiosity, but he grew weary and his arm pulsing with pain wouldn’t let him sleep. There was a pitch of herbs at the nightstand, but he had already learned this morning he didn’t have enough strength to reach for a mug, let alone drink without spilling everything. The presence of one of his brother’s in the room was well justified.

“Ambarussa?”

“Amas, Maitimo,” his younger brother corrected him gently. He raised his head and put away his quill.

“Amras.” Maedhros repeated the unknown name, tasted it and grimaced. It sounded short, sharp.

“Nobody calls me Ambarussa anymore. It was our name, not just mine.” The youngest brother glanced away, but then composed himself. “Amras or Telvo, all right?” he asked. “Little, if you really must,” he added with a resigned smile.

Maedhros almost smiled back. Amras must have come to terms with the fact that as the youngest he would never stop being little to them. Ambar... Amras. So his mother name was too painful to use after the death of his twin. Maedhros tried to cling to thinking about his youngest brother, but he couldn’t swallow the bitterness that threatened to overcome him. He stared at the ceiling. So his brother was no longer the kid who had once wanted to run away from their father after the burning of the ships. Ambarussa grew up he didn’t know when... ‘ _No,’_ Maedhros silently corrected himself; he did know. It was when his brothers kept as far away from Angband as they could. When he was there, captive.

“Maitimo?” He must have been silent for too long, because Amras suddenly found himself beside his bed. “Do you need anything?”

“Water.” He wanted to sleep, to stop thinking, and hoped the herbs would help.

He almost screamed as Amras placed his shoulder around him and lifted him into half-sitting position. Maedhros felt dizzy and only after a moment he managed to drink half of the mug Amras pressed to his lips. His youngest brother watched him closely, as if trying to guess any other request before it was voiced. There was none, as Maedhros wanted to sleep, to not remember...

Amras wrapped his second arm around him and embraced him closely, placing his head on Maedhros’s good shoulder.

“I missed you,” Amras whispered somewhere below his ear.

“So what?” hissed Maedhros. His heart was still held in an icy grasp, though the warmth from herbs emanated slowly through his body. _‘You left me, convicted me, you did not rescue me,’_ he wished to spit at his brother. “So what? You did not search for me, so don’t you tell me about missing me. Let go of me.’

Amras gasped in response and just hugged Maedhros closer, making him hiss in pain; the position was very uncomfortable.

“Let me go, Ambarussa.”

This time Amras obeyed and lowered him gently on the pillows, adjusting them. He crouched by the bed. Maedhros could feel his wounded, hopeful gaze, but he closed his eyes and turned his head away. He just wanted to sleep.

xxx

It was already afternoon when he woke. Amras brought him some soup and fed him, but then left, saying that Alcarino would soon come to redress his wounds. However, Maedhros didn’t expect Maglor would assist the healer.

His younger brother sat closely on the bed, by the pillows. He asked about his mood, then touched his forehead which made Maedhros flinch. He didn’t have a chance to ask what was that for, when Maglor lifted him up with ease, so Maedhros found himself sitting, with his brother’s arm hurting his back. Maglor’s fingers combing his hair he just couldn’t stand.

“Stop it,” he growled and his brother froze. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing...” Maglor frowned but took back his hand. “I mean... The same things as usually, they help...” he explained quietly.

Usually. The wounded closed his eyes as he realised just how Maglor fussed around him. When he opened them again and met Maglor’s, whose arms were ready to embrace him if he allowed it, Maedhros couldn’t bear it any longer.

“Nobody held my hand when these wounds were inflicted, so nobody needs to do so now!” he exploded. As much as he was able, he moved away. “Get out.”

“Neylo...” Maglor was staring at him, shocked and wounded.

“Get out, Kanafinwe,” growled Maedhros.

“As you wish.”

Maglor surrendered and laid him back, then left without asking any questions. Maedhros turned his head away from the door and carefully moved to lay on his left side in attempt to take off the pressure from his back. So his brothers thought him weak and Maglor wanted to protect him from the sight of his wounds... As if Maedhros was blind and indifferent for all those years of captivity.

When Alcarino repeated Maglor’s gesture and rose him to give him some bitter potion, Maedhros didn’t resist.

“Don’t be surprised your brother cares so much, Nelyafinwe,’ said the healer, startling the eldest son of Feanor. “For two weeks he sat there and watched you dying on his hands and then waited, thinking you would not wake, because your fea already fled to Mandos.

“He should be glad it was this short. I waited much longer.” The bitter words escaped Maedhros’s lips before he could stop it. ‘ _Yet another proof I control nothing, even my tongue,’_ he thought grimly and silenced.

“Without Kanafinwe we probably wouldn’t have been able to pull you through the worst,” remarked Alcarino calmly, pretending he didn’t hear the remark. “We couldn’t touch you without him.”

“Kano won’t make me forget,” muttered Maedhros.

“But it can be less unpleasant with him.”

“I don’t want him here.”

“I will need someone to help me later anyway,” the healer warned him.

Alcarino took his arm and started undressing it. Maedhros had to force himself not to try to pull his arm back. He would have achieved nothing, as the whole limb with dislocated joints was numb, but he felt anxious at the thought of being so helpless, even if it was Alcarino taking care of him; Alcarino, who was a friend of his grandfather and whom Maedhros had known for ages.

“Nelyafinwe.” The healer’s voice stopped him from getting too far away.

Maedhros looked at him and suddenly felt the need to talk to someone who was not his brother. Curufin did not come since he had told him there was no rescue mission. The other brothers didn’t avoid him so openly, but they didn’t know what to do, apart from Amras who consequently kept drawing his maps and wasn’t overbearing. Maedhros could not really be cross with him for long when his youngest brother was seeking his company. But he couldn’t talk with Amras, also because he would not want to burden him.

“You think I shouldn’t be angry with Kano,” he stated sleepily, watching the healer.

“I didn’t say that,” Alcarino pointed out. “But since you’re asking, I think you should not shut your brothers out. They can help you now.”

Maedhros did not ask, but the rational arguments of the healer were soothing,  unlike Maglor’s fussing.

“I don’t remember you coming earlier,” said Maedhros, watching closely what the healer was doing.

“I tried to change the dressings while you slept,” explained Alcarino. “But you are worryingly warm, so I’d rather check now if there is anything worsening.’

“Alright.”

The healer uncovered what was left of his wrist and Maedhros gasped at the sight of where exactly his arm ended. He stared, but his breath quickened. How...? Maedhros started shaking, he realised he couldn’t catch his breath. When...? He was hanging, surely... So why? He couldn’t remember!

Alcarino put some kind of ointment on the stump and Maedhros moaned, though he had promised himself he would make no sound, he would not give this satisfaction to his tormenters... Not a sound...

“Nelyafinwe.” Alcarino’s voice came from far away. Maedhros did not see him, he had his eyes shut, his face hidden in a pillow. “Nelyo, Nelyo.” This time closer, right over his ear, when the healer leaned over him.

A cool hand on his cheek was so unexpected that Maedhros went utterly still. What this time...?

“Open your eyes, Nelyo,” Alcarino ordered gently. “Look at me.”

Maedhros ignored him, hoping that whatever the healer might have wanted, he would tire and leave him alone. However, Alcarino kept talking gently to him and was not about to give up. Finally the wounded opened his watery eyes and the first thing he saw was a friendly smile of the elder elf.

“That’s better, isn’t it? I am not going to harm you,” promised Alcarino and Maedhros wanted to trust him. “I won’t force you to look if you don’t want. But I want you to know it’s just me.”

The wounded nodded weakly and closed his eyes. Alcarino, it was Alcarino, he realised. The healer went out of his sight, he must have gone to the door, as his footsteps made the floor crack. Next moment something warm and hairy laid on Maedhros’s hand.

 “Huan, it wasn’t you who was asked,” said Celegorm at the doorstep, half amused and half sounding as if he gave up.

“You will help me, Tyelkormo,” ordered Alcarino. “And Huan may stay.”

The giant dog barked happily and started sniffling the wounded. Maedhros ignored his brother and focused on his dog. Huan licked his hand, then stepped on the bed to lick his cheek.

“Are you sure he may?” Asked Celegorm, amused. “Get down.”

The dog moved back obediently and Maedhros let out the air he was holding. Huan surprised him, the touch of his tongue was not unpleasant, but entirely different from the healer’s hands.

“Are you alright, Maitimo?” Medhros could feel how strain and unsure his brother was. Celegorm too did not know what to do.

“Mmm,” Maedhros muttered in response. He closed  his eyes and allowed his brother to talk about his latest hunt. At first he wanted to ask Alcarino about something, but the questions vanished as the healer’s doings were less and less unpleasant and the herbs finally started working.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is there anyone actually reading this?


	10. Chapter IX

**Chapter IX**

The place Turgon had insisted on showing him was a pleasant one, but Fingon barely hid his impatience and feigned enthusiasm when his younger brother kept talking about his plans of building a city, gesturing vividly and showing him sketches spread on the ground. Finrod and Turgon made Fingon join them on their trip, which  provided a good distraction, but on the other hand cut him from any news from their cousins’ camp. He had gone anyway, to soothe the storm Maglor’s departure had left. Turgon was quick to anger but wouldn’t hold grudge for long, so when he had sent Finrod to ask him to come, Fingon agreed, knowing his brother wanted to say he was no longer angry with him.

Unfortunately, it meant that the messenger sent to them by their father reached them after three days. Fingon was ready to ride back there and then, once he learned that Maedhros had awoken, but they had to finish measurements Turgon needed for further planning, though Finrod did his best to rush his friend. Turgon complained a bit, but then gave up and said he would come back there with Finrod, because Fingon would surely just mess with his notes and he would have to repeat everything anyway.

xxx

It was late morning when Fingon came to his cousins’ settlement; he left home long before dawn, as he couldn’t sleep. The guards at the gate let him through with no problems and one of the elves led him to the sons of Feanor. They went through the camp which had already changed into a proper settlement. Tents were rare, replaced by simple houses. Whatever could be said about the sons of Feanor, it was not that they wasted their time.

There was a commotion at the yard with elves passing by in a hurry. Fingon easily found the centre of it and with little surprise spotted Celegorm there, going back and forth. The reason of bustle was a huge amount of animals brought from a hunt. Celegorm was ordering his comrades, he himself too dirty up to his elbows. He must have dragged to work everyone who had come close enough, realised Fingon as he saw Maglor skilfully plucking a pheasant.

“No, wait, take this one first.” Celegorm pointed at a deer, then turned around and almost stepped on Fingon “Oh.”

His abrupt silence must have been a change, as Maglor raised his head from his pheasant. For a moment Fingon caught his grim gaze, but then a polite, studious smile appeared on his lips.

“Forgive us for not greeting you properly,” he said and rose on his feet; he was as dirty as his younger brother. “Tyelko has brought so much meat we need to take care of it before it runs off. But please, follow me, I’ll just get changed.” Maglor pointed at the ajar door and led him inside, with his pheasant still in his hand.

“You don’t need to drop your work, I came to...” started Fingon, but Maglor cut him off.

“I know why you’re here,” he said sharply, but then covered the unpleasant impression with a smile. “If you stayed there any longer, you’d surely gotten a bird to pluck, I made this mistake in the morning. Excuse me for a moment, I’ll go get changed.”

Maglor left him in the kitchen. Fingon mused if he could go and search for Maedhros himself, but decided it would be better to wait. He could feel Maglor was tensed under a mask of courtesy, as if he was trying very hard to hide the fact that he didn’t want him here. Considering in how good terms they had been during those three weeks, Fingon could not understand his cousin’s behaviour.

“Maitimo is sleeping,” said Maglor at the doorstep, now clean and changed.

“How is he?” Fingon watched his cousin closely. Maglor seemed less hoarse and sleep-deprived than he was in their house, but tensed and nervous nevertheless.

“He’s better, much better. Alcarino is pleased, his hand has finally started to heal,” replied Maglor as if he was reciting. The unsaid ‘but’ hung in the air.

“Then what bothers you so?” asked Fingon, staring at his cousin.

“He’s closing up on us.” Maglor winced. “He knows it was only you who went to search for him. I guess he’ll greet you warmly. Well, you’ll see.”

xxx

 _‘Four in this week, eleven through the previous two, so along with the rest...’_ Caranthir tossed the pages with nervous gesture, seeking for information. He found, added and cursed.

Trying to organize records made by at least two other brothers, apart from him, was never an easy task. Maglor’s letters were brisk and Caranthir always half expected to find rhymes, but Celegorm had a habit of taking notes on whatever came in hand. Caranthir had recently neglected his records and now it was getting back at him.

 He fought an urge to shut the book ant throw  away all the notes. He was silent; earlier, when he kept muttering under his nose, cursing the mess, Maedhros told him that Caranthir could go elsewhere if he and Fingon were disturbing him. That was the most Maedhros had said to him since morning. Caranthir refused, explaining only that his brothers’ notes made no sense. He would have never admitted it was Fingon’s presence that made him unable to think.

 _‘Findekano,’_ he growled silently, biting his lip not to curse aloud. Their cousin had come while Maedhros was asleep. At first Maglor took upon himself to entertain the guest, but when the wounded woke, Caranthir had no choice but to meet his cousin.

It hurt. Maedhros welcomed Fingon with enthusiasm and he must have been well rested, because he became chatty. He even expressed his desire to sit up and Caranthir rose to help him, but Fingon was closer. He sent him an inquiring look, seeing his cousin froze half way to the bed, but Caranthir just blushed and went back to the table.

Fingon had done nothing wrong and yet Caranthir wholeheartedly wished his cousin already gone. The easiness Maedhros talked with him reminded only of the thick silence of the previous three days. His wounded brother kept asking about Fingon’s lonely journey, then about the other settlement, once he realised the Noldor did not live in one place. Caranthir sat there and listened; at some point he stopped even pretending he was trying to count anything. He listened and wondered when Maedhros would ask Fingon to take him back at the other side of the lake. Considering the atmosphere here, Caranthir would not be surprised.

The request did not come, but Fingon must have seen the wounded was getting weary, for he asked about how he was feeling. Maedhros quieted at once and moved weakly, as if he was trying to get away.

“May I?” Fingon asked as he grabbed the edge of the blanket, seemingly wanting to see if there was any progress in the healing.

“NO... Nnnnno.” Maedhros looked around fervently and to Caranthir’s satisfaction calmed visibly once he found him.

Caranthir used the opportunity to bring his brother fresh herbs and helped him lie down, covering him with ostensible care. Despite his reluctance, Maedhros was more used to his brothers and accepted his help more easily than his cousin’s touch. For a moment Fingon didn’t know what to do, but then he said goodbye and left to let the wounded rest. Caranthir sighed in relief and went back to his recordings.

xxx

It was all surreal. The bed, clean and dry; fresh air coming through the open window; food that had taste, that he could eat or not, whatever he wished; the herbs with intensive smell, soothing his pain. Home.

Every time he woke he could not cease to be amazed. Neither his brothers nor Alcarino disappeared, the food was still tasty and the herbs helped a bit. Earlier his brothers would talk to him, chatting about whatever they liked, and Maedhros could listen to them just for the sake of hearing their voices – fair, elvish, familiar. Safe. Anchoring him and convincing it was all real.

The more this silence hurt. Three days of impassiveness from Maedhros’s part and ignoring every attempt to start a conversation had shut his brothers’ mouths. Even Maglor started singing only when Maedhros was already drifting asleep.

The better he felt awake, the worse the nightmares struck once he closed his eyes. Without the voices, the conversations giving him some kind of familiar ground, he was slipping, losing himself to the point when he no longer knew if his brothers were just another illusion. And yet, when he was once again aware where he was, the bitterness prevented him from seeking the company of those who had left him.

Now he was too eating in silence, without looking at Maglor. He focused on the spoon, furious he could not grab it himself; his hand was too weak and shook too badly for him to eat,  so he preferred to be fed and spared further embarrassment.

“Why are you still here?” snapped Maedhros, when his brother did not go back to the table, or out of his room, but sat on the chair by the bed and watched him.

“We need to talk.”

“I don’t wish to talk to you.” Maedhros turned his head and closed his eyes; this much he could do. “Why don’t you just leave? You were good at it,” he pointed out. Maybe if he offended Maglor, he would stop coming.

But no, this time Maglor did not retreat, he just slammed the bowl.

“I do not make the same mistake twice,” he hissed, reminding his brother their father had not been wrong when he had named him. “You know very well why I’m not leaving.”

“Sometimes I wonder.”

“Why did you keep Telvo away from father?” snapped Maglor, now plainly at the edge of losing composure; his voice was shaking. “You told him you would let him go once it’s safe. I cannot leave you now, not until you’re well. If you wish then not to know me, I will respect that. But not now, Nelyo. Not now.

“You could, then.” Maedhros looked at his brother.

“Really? Do you honestly believe we did nothing?”asked Maglor, no longer hiding his hurt and bitterness. “Do you really think we did not rush to your aid? We didn’t make it to the gates, we were pushed away. I had to retreat,” he spat in raspy voice, as if barely constraining himself from shouting. “And then Moringotto sent his emissary. He demanded that we go back west or at least move south. And give up any claims concerning the Silmarills. Then and only then, he said, he would let you go. Do you think I could trust him, when he had just captured you and slaughtered all of your men? That I could break the Oath, condemn our brothers and myself, knowing at the same time I would not buy your freedom? Do you really think it was easy to send his emissary with refusal?”

Maedhros blinked in confusion. This was the first time he heard about the conditions the Enemy gave to his brothers. Sauron always told him he had been abandoned and forgotten, and Curufin’s late behaviour seemed to confirm that. Now Maglor said something completely different... and he was honest, Maedhros realised.

“I thought he killed you once we refused,” admitted Maglor. “I hoped, for it seemed more merciful solution. If I knew... I don’t know what I would have done. Forgive me if you can,” he added and stood abruptly. He went out just like he was asked earlier and Maedhros was left alone with his thoughts.

xxx

Maedhros was woken by muffled sobs. He opened his eyes and saw his younger brother sitting on the floor beside his bed. Maglor didn’t even realise he was being watched; he kept his head hidden in his arms laying on the bedding by his brother’s hand, his back shaking from sobbing. He was muttering his apologies over and over again, begging for forgiveness and then apologizing again. Maedhros did not remember when he had last seen his brother crying; perhaps in Valinor, when their grandfather died. For even when Feanor died he could not recall a single tear. Though who knew what happened then...

“You should not be crying,” said Maedhros, trying to keep his memories at bay.

Maglor startled and rose his head, with blush spreading over his cheeks.

“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said nervously.

“Your people should not see you like that.” Suddenly, Maedhros wanted to hush him somehow, to caress his dark locks spread on the bed, but his maimed arm was useless. He turned carefully on his right side and reached to Maglor’s cheek with his good hand.

“There is no ‘my people’,” objected his younger brother. He straightened and escaped beyond Maedhros’s reach. “I never wanted to be a king,” he said quietly; something that must have burdened him for a long time.

“But you were,” replied Maedhros calmly. “And you still are,” he reminded him. Though he was back and he was more and more conscious, it was still Maglor ruling. And he was going to rule for the nearest future.

Maedhros’s remark only depressed his brother more. Maglor stopped staring at the floor and placed his keen eyes on him. His fea, usually balanced, shone brightly in his eyes.

“I was,” he corrected Maedhros bitterly. “And I managed to make the worst decision ever. With one word I condemned you to long years of all this, you, my brother, my king.”

“Stop it.” Maedhros leaned farther, forced his brother to raise his head. “You would have achieved nothing. And I never, ever, not in the darkest moments wished for any of you to share my fate,” he said forcefully. “Knowing that you were all far away, relatively safe, was what kept me alive.”

“I could have freed you years ago.” Maglor was adamant in that matter. He seemed stiff, as if he tried to back away and at the same time wished to lean to the touch.

“You could not,” retorted Maedhros and changed position. “To set me free, you would have had to cut your way to the deepest holes of Angband and fight every worst evil of this world.” HIs voice was cold, his fingers clenched subconsciously at his brother’s cheek. “We did not have such power, then, when I so foolishly thought I could outwit Moringotto. I doubt we have it now, even with Nolofinwe’s aid. You kept all our younger brothers safe, so do not torment yourself for being more sensible than father and I.”

“And yet Findekano...”

“Even Fin with Manwe’s eagles would have achieved nothing if Moringotto had not grown bored with me and left me alone there on the cliff. “Maedhros cut him off. He had repeated it to himself so many times during the last hours that he even managed to say it out loud convincingly. He tried to silence it, but it still hurt that his brothers had not tried to do what Fingon had managed. _‘Your brothers abandoned you,’_ whispered Sauron’s silky voice in his mind.

“Nelyo?” Maglor’s alarmed voice made Maedhros open his eyes; he didn’t even realise he had closed them.

His brother had guilt written all over his face, his eyes still shining and disturbed. Maedhros fully understood what the whispering voices tried to do. ‘ _Even here you are trying to make us quarrel?’,_ he asked silently his imaginary tormentor and then glanced at Maglor. No, he would not let it happen.

“It’s past,” he said, forcing himself to remain calm. “And you really should not be crying, look how you sound,” he tried to lighten the mood.

“My voice, what does it matter?” Maglor laughed bitterly, still too drowned in his remorse to realise his brother was trying to change the topic. “I would give it up without hesitation if it meant I could go back, free you, if I...”

“Kano.” Maedhros cut him off again. “Don’t ever say that again. Never.  It was your voice that called me back from the darkest places,” he reminded him; his brother’s voice was the only thing he remembered from the last weeks, apart from a foggy image of Fingon on the eagle. “It is dangerous to ask for such things, and there is no power on Arda that could reverse the time. Desiring it may only lead us the wrong way.” _Worse way_ , he added silently. “Don’t go back to it, please,” he added, weary, and leaned against the pillows.

Maglor stared at him in silence, unsure and unconvinced, but when Maedhros reached his hand, he did not escape but grabbed it in his. The eldest son of Feanor relaxed a bit.

“Sing for me, would you?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope it's not too much feels :)


	11. Chapter X

**Chapter X**

Long days of recovery began for Maedhros. Alcarino was adamant in that matter and expected him to move as much as possible. Maedhros himself wasn’t exactly oppose to that, as after two weeks he was no longer sleeping most of the time and grew bored of laying still. As the healer suggested, he started mostly with training his left hand to get its strength back.

But as he grew stronger, he also became aware of his limits. His right arm remained swollen and numb, with the stump healing slowly, fortunately without any infections. It didn’t change the fact that his arm was irreparably maimed, but the other sons of Feanor would not let his brother fall in despair. Every time Maedhros quieted and grieved, they would force him to talk to them or start exercising, though they could see by the hunger and relief in his eyes that they did not always catch him in time. The wounded didn’t want to talk about it, so none of the brothers insisted, afraid to wake unwanted memories.

xxx

“What do you have there?” Maedhros asked finally, because Amras, leant over the table, seemed to have forgotten that he wasn’t alone. He was sitting silently for a long time and sketching something with black and red ink.

Amras startled when he heard his brother and sent him an apologetic look. He placed the quill aside, as if Maedhros had caught him doing something improper. Then he must have realised how his it looked, for he grinned.

“A map of the nearest grounds,” he replied. “I am still missing quite a lot, but we’ve already got more than half,” he said proudly.

“Show me,” asked Maedhros. He had known his brother was working on maps, but had not felt like watching them.

Amras waited for the ink to dry and then carefully grabbed the sheet of paper. His wounded brother sat more straight and flattened the blanket on his knees, so that they could place the map there. At the same time he accidentally dropped some clips and mechanisms that Curufin had brought him to exercise his precision, either by opening and closing them or by matching the pieces together. To Maedhros’s frustration, his fingers were still clumsy, though he was getting better with some of his brother’s bibelots.

The youngest son of Feanor picked them from the floor and placed at the nightstand, then sat on the bed and rolled the map.

“We’re here,” he pointed with his finger at the southern part of long lake Mithrim. “Here’s Nolofinwe and his Noldor,” he moved his finger up.

“Quite far away,” remarked Maedhros as he judged the distance. “We were there with father, were we not? Before we were attacked.”

“Yes, and now Nolofinwe is there,” confirmed Amras. “There was too little place for all of us and Makalaure decided it was better to keep some distance,” he explained shortly.

Maedhros didn’t ask, as right now he was more interested in maps. He asked about the hills east to the lake and Amras brightened. Maedhros didn’t have to ask twice to tell him about the nearby grounds.

xxx

Maglor looked in his wounded brother’s room as he heard Amras talking vividly about something. Maedhros was answering him and seemed almost cheerful; the last few days were calm and he made progress, though he still needed help with simplest tasks. _‘Seems it’s a good day,’_ mused the singer as he watched his brothers.

“Do you want something to eat?” he asked, smiling to himself at the sight of his two redhead brothers leaning over a map. Maedhros was trying to sit without support, but it was plain he was getting tired. Nevertheless, he tried and he played with one of Curufin’s clips.

“But not soup,” said Maedhros.

“Is there anything particular you’d like?”

“No, I don’t want to eat at all.” Maedhros leaned against the pillows. “Yes, I know I should,” he said before Maglor objected. “Anything but soup.”

Maglor decided against asking further questions. There was a pot of stew in the kitchen and another one with groats; recently they rarely ate together as they usually came home at different times, so everyone just grabbed something to eat whenever it suited him. They remembered about regular meals only when it came to Maedhros.

Like his brother had asked, Maglor left the soup and took some groats with stew, making sure the meat was cut.

In the meantime Amras removed his maps and went out as soon as Maglor came to the wounded, muttering something about joining Celegorm at the fields to see how the harvesting was going.

“Give me,” requested Maedhros as Maglor sat and he took the fork from the bowl.

The singer moved closer without a word to make it easier for him. Maedhros focused completely on eating and seemed unaware of his brother’s presence and Maglor silently watched his brother eat. Maedhros’s fingers, though healed, were still stiff and his movements looked clumsy and unnatural. Nevertheless, the exercises  had given some effects because he was able to hold the fork and emptied half of the bowl before giving up with frustration.

 “We’ll need some table,” remarked Maglor as he placed the bowl away and tossed the groats from the blanket; not exactly an ideal food for first independent attempt, he realised too late.

“I’ll need to get up finally,” growled Maedhros; despite making another step towards independence, his good mood vanished.

“Alcarino was against it,” the singer reminded him. “He doesn’t want you to put too much pressure on your ankles just yet.”

“It’s my arm that bothers me,” muttered the wounded darkly and tried to place his arm more comfortably. He drank a mug of herbs without protests and slipped deeper into the blankets.

Maglor didn’t insist on talking. He made sure his presence wasn’t annoying his brother, then sat with his legs crossed and started singing one of the songs he knew Maedhros liked. He wasn’t surprised when his brother fell asleep; the herbs he had given him were strong and worked fast.

xxx                                                                                                                                                             

The room was dark, someone must have covered all the crystal lamps and the last candle had burned out some time ago. Maedhros lied in this darkness and listened to the silence of the sleeping house, to calm breathing of Maglor sleeping on the other bed. A few days ago he had managed to convince his brothers he no longer needed someone sitting beside him all the time, as he could easily call, should he need something.

Maedhros watched his brother lazily, trying to focus on how calm Maglor looked. He couldn’t sleep, he didn’t really want after sleeping through most of the day. His arm was still bothering him, but he didn’t want to wake Maglor. It had been so well...

Why had Fingon done this to him? Maedhros suddenly remembered his cousin’s visit, his warm voice and his mood, too bright to be completely sincere. Fingon wore a mask, hid his emotions; loss, pity, perhaps even disgust? He was kind, they all were...

Maedhros swallowed bitter tears that came out of nowhere. They all consequently pretended they didn’t see. Amras picked things he had dropped as naturally as if he had been doing it of ages, Maglor said nothing when he cleaned after his meal. Celegorm usually became chatty when Maedhros failed to do something, as it to draw his attention away, Caranthir stuck to similar strategy. Only Curufin  would just cross his arms at his brother’s frustration and tell him to try again. But they all seemed blind and talked only about his progress, without seeing that Fingon had irrevocably crippled him.

He wished he could just say he hated his cousin for what he had done to him. He wished... And yet he could not say he would prefer to have died, not when there were still small things that pleased him. He couldn’t remember his rescue; for him it was just another day of hanging between life and death that was merciless and wouldn’t come. He knew what happened, but these were not his memories, just Fingon’s relation, lacking the details. His friend had told him more about his lone journey and fruitless attempts to get inside Morgoth’s domain. About the rescue itself he had said little, but Maedhros clung to that, repeating his cousin’s words and trying to recall what had happened.

He remembered. The memory hit him suddenly, overwhelming him with images, emotions, sensations. His shoulder exploded with pain, emanating to his elbow and further, up to the tips of his fingers; he couldn’t breathe. Maedhros curled under his blanket and clenched his teeth, biting his lip until he felt blood.

_He remembered. A song, coming from somewhere below, a voice full of remorse singing about the Blessed Realm. He took his cousin for an illusion, a cruel joke of his own mind, but he pleaded for death anyway. He hoped that one precisely shot arrow would ease his pain, but no, Fingon’s phantom, though pulled the bowstring, did not end his life. He was not killed by the giant eagle either, even though it would take just one scratch of its claw. But the claws pinned to the stonewall over him and the phantom, no, not a phantom, Fingon slipped from the eagle’s back. How he was able to find a place for his feet, Maedhros did not know, it was enough he managed to keep himself there as he pulled at the shackle, making Maedhros rock and hit painfully against the wall. Fingon remained deaf to his cries and pleas, he could not give up._

_At first Maedhros did not realise what he was up to. With every movement his shoulder burned as if Fingon tried to rip his entire arm off by the ribs, but up from his elbow the arm was mercifully numb. It took several blasts of a knife before Maedhros realised what his cousin was trying to do. He scram. He begged for death, and yet..._

Maedhros had no idea what happened later, after the blissful darkness came. He felt nothing, remembered nothing until he was called by Celegorm’s half serious reproach. He didn’t wish to remember what kind of dark paths his mind had wandered those first weeks after his rescue. But the fact was that Fingon had cut off his hand so _why did it still hurt?_

The room became brighter. The windows, usually curtained, as if his brothers feared something could harm Maedhros and tried to shield him from anything that might have come from outside, were uncovered today. The silver light of the moon came inside when the whole circle moved on the sky and glanced through the window. The sky must have been so clear...

Suddenly Maedhros wished he could go out to see the stars. Even just to the window, just for a moment... The desire to look at the sky, even through the glass, was strong enough to make him sit up carefully and glance at the other bed. Maglor slept peacefully and deeply enough not to react at the movement. All the better; Maedhros did not intend to wake him. He could not require help in everything and anyway Maglor would oppose his idea of getting up. He had to learn how to manage on his own.

The sick elf put his feet on the floor and waited for a moment, listening to his body. His arm still hurt up to his non-existing fingers, but his legs did not oppose the change of position. Maybe they would even carry him...

The task of raising was still a problem though. Getting up with no help was not going to work, there was no way his muscles would manage. Maedhros sat at the edge of his bed and slowly dragged the chair standing nearby. He grabbed the back, but it wasn’t enough. Irritated, but all the more determined, Maedhros dragged the chair closer and placed also his elbow on its back. He tried again.

The chair moved and fell, dragging Maedhros behind. The noise, as well as the startled cry of the elf, immediately woke his younger brother.

“Maitimo?!” Maglor jumped off the bed and uncovered one of the lamps as he rushed to his brother. “What are you doing?”

Maedhros blinked, still a bit confused, as Maglor moved the chair and knelt beside him. He didn’t answer nor protest when his younger brother picked him from the floor and sat him back on the bed. Maedhros just clenched his teeth and hugged his arm, hit painfully when he fell. Maglor was talking to him, but the wounded elf did not focus on his words, trying to calm his racing heart.

“What happened, Maitimo? Can’t you sleep?”

“No..” He could not, when he felt Fingon’s knife hitting his wrist again and again, cutting through his tendons and crushing bones.

“Why didn’t you call me?” There was mild reproach and care in Maglor’s voice. “Let me see.” Maglor carefully forced Maedhros to lean against the pillows and moved away his left hand. “What hurts?” His skilful fingers ran up his arm, over the elbow to the shoulder.

“Lower... Wrist...” Maedhros gave up. “My hand...”

Maglor sighed. Without ceasing to massage his arm with one hand, he placed the other on his brother’s face.

“Maitimo...”

“I know, Kano,” hissed the wounded. “I know...” He closed his eyes and leaned to the touch, hoping it would bring some relief.

One of their brothers must have come to check what was the reason of the noise, because Maglor asked someone to prepare some painkillers. He apologised for not reacting in time, though Maedhros purposely had not woken him. The eldest brother did not answer, too worn with pain and his failed attempt to stand. He opened his eyes back only when Maglor pressed a mug with hot herbs to his lips. He swallowed as soon as he could without burning his lips and gave his brother the empty mug.

“Why did you try to stand up?” inquired Maglor and took his hand. “What were you up to?”

“I just wished to see the stars...” muttered Maedhros. He tried to look at his brother, but his eyes closed.

“You will see them soon, Maitimo,” he heard Maglor. “Soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elisif, if you're still reading it, this one is for you. I remember reading one of your stories somewhere around the time I was dealing with this chapter.


	12. Chapter XI

**Chapter XI**

The failed attempt of getting up left Maedhros impatient, but despite his brothers’ assumptions he did not ask to be carried outside. Instead, he focused on his exercises and Alcarino had to stop him a bit, reminding him that he would not heal faster if he overworked himself. In general, though nobody objected any kind of activity that did not cause Maedhros pain.

“Have I bored you yet?” inquired Caranthir and stopped talking about his latest trade meeting with Moriquendi, as he noticed that Maedhros had stopped asking questions. The wounded was interested in everything concerning the local elves, but he had been quiet for some time.

“No.” The sick elf opened his eyes and looked keenly at his brother. He must have realised that the evening had changed into night. “What time is it?”

“Long after midnight,” replied Caranthir, wondering what his brother was up to. It was not the first time Maedhros had slept during most of the day and was active at night. After he had fallen from his bed, they decided that he still needed company, thus this conversation about Moriquendi in the middle of the night.

Maedhros sat up without support, wincing as his maimed arm slipped from the pillow. He put away the blankets and placed his feet on the floor; he was wearing but a long shirt.

“Help me up, Moryo,” he demanded.

Caranthir nodded; he wouldn’t be surprised if his brother grew bored to death. He grabbed Maedhros below is armpits and swiftly pulled him up. His brother’s knees buckled, his fingers pinned in Caranthir’s arm, but he managed to stand.

“What now?”

“Window...”

“As you wish. I’m holding you.” Caranthir pretended to be calm, but he watched with fascination as his brother moved his foot with effort and made his first unsteady step. And then second, and one after another as they slowly but stubbornly made the few steps to the window.

“Open it,” asked Maedhros, panting. He was leaning against Caranthir with almost all of his weight, his legs shaking with effort, but he seemed not to mind it as his eyes were drawn by the sky.

Caranthir freed one of his hands to open the window. Seeing that his brother was not going to stand any longer, he helped him sit on the windowsill and lean against the frame. Maedhros inhaled deeply, then a grimace of pain flashed on his face as his maimed arm reminded of itself. He moved it up and placed carefully on his lap; his eyes never left the sky.

“Are you alright?” Caranthir asked quietly, assuming that his brother could not be comfortable on the windowsill, but Maedhros looked so calm he almost regretted saying anything.

“Mmm...” Maedhros nodded thoughtfully. “I won’t fall... Possibly.” A shadow of smile appeared on his lips. He leaned his head back against the wall.

Caranthir decided to trust his brother on that matter and left him for a moment. He dragged an armchair closer to the window and untied a sash he had around his hips. Maedhros paid no attention to him, lost in thought until Caranthir touched him unprepared, intending to make a sling. His elder brother froze and held his breath, and when Caranthir placed his hand near his neck, he hissed and turned his head away as far as he could, as if trying to avoid being hit.

“Nelyo, calm down, it’s just me!” Caranthir rushed to reassure him. “Don’t worry, I mean no harm!”

Maedhros fought the urge to flee and leaned forward, but he closely watched his brother’s hands.

“I don’t want it,” he muttered unhappily as his younger brother adjusted the length of the sling and tied the ends on his neck.

“What is wrong with my sash?” asked Caranthir provokingly with feigned offense. “I thought you’d like the stars,” he pointed at the golden pattern embroidered on the red sash that seemed russet in the faint light.

Maedhros touched it and reached to his neck, placing his hand under the fabric as if it was bothering him.

“I don’t like it that...” he stopped. “It ties me,” he admitted under his brother’s expecting look.

‘’So you’d better get used to it, you’ll need a sling for some time,” Caranthir pointed out. “You cannot use the other hand, you need to have it free. But you’re right, it’s definitely not your shade of red.”

“Mmm...” Maedhros winced. He glanced at his bare knees and unsuccessfully tried to cover them with his shirt.

“Come, it’s not the best place for you to sit,” said Caranthir.

“No, I don’t want to go back to bed.” The wounded elf objected at once, moving a bit.

“Who said anything about bed?” The younger brother pointed at the armchair. “I can see you’re not comfortable.”

Maedhros accepted his help and soon enough he was seated comfortably in the armchair, leaning against a pillow. Caranthir did not miss the stressed gaze his brother gave to his bare legs nor his attempt to cover himself with the shirt. He covered his elder brother tightly with a blanket and only then Maedhros relaxed.

“May I assume you will not try to get up on your own if I leave you for a moment?” asked Caranthir, sitting for a moment on one of the armrests. He brushed hair from Maedhros’s forehead and noticed with satisfaction he did not escape his touch.

“Why would I?” Maedhros seemed content with his place by the window.

“I’ll bring some raspberry pie,” offered Caranthir as he stood up energetically. “And something to drink, my throat went dry from all that talking.”

“Moryo?” His brother’s voice made him stop at the doorstep. “Bring me some wine, might be watered. Anything but water, because I feel like even the one for washing smells of herbs.”

Caranthir was not surprised. Alcarino prepared various potions, soothing, but mostly strengthening and added them to the water Maedhros had at the nightstand. This way the sick elf didn’t have to take additional medicine, but the water had characteristic taste.

Caranthir came back soon, carrying a tray with leftovers of the pie and a carafe of wine. He poured half a mug for his brother; Maedhros had not moved and was still staring out of the window.

“I’m not going to ruin it by adding water,” said Caranthir, offended, when he met his brother’s inquiring look. “It’s strong and I don’t want to intoxicate you,” he smiled merrily. He also didn’t want Maedhros to spill the wine on himself, but he wasn’t going to say that.

“With this amount?” Maedhros eyed the mug and sniffed the wine with interest.

“Try it,” Caranthir encouraged him. “And who knows? I am not going to explain myself to Alcarino, or worse, to Kano.”

Maedhros half smiled and took a sip. He nodded approvingly.

“It’s good,” he admitted. “And it is strong indeed. Where is it from?”

“Ha! I brought it from my last meeting with Moriquendi,” explained Caranthir, content that he pleased his brother. “You should have seen how Curvo fussed.”

“It is good,” repeated Maedhros thoughtfully and turned back to the window. Caranthir poured himself some wine and stepped back to give his brother much needed space.

xxx

Once he was allowed to get up, Maedhros did everything not to be completely bedridden again, even if his activity meant his joints hurt. He insisted that his brothers put him on his feet and help him walk even a few steps – to the table, to the window, around the room. Anywhere, if it meant he could move.

It was a good evening. They sat together for a supper and nobody felt like leaving once the meal was over. His younger brothers and his nephew felt more comfortable around him, as if encouraged by the fact that Maedhros managed to get up and was sitting with them by the table. They were watching him closely, of course, especially Maglor, if he didn’t need anything, if he wasn’t tired, but the conversation was fluent, full of anecdotes and jesting.

Maedhros sat in an armchair, his fingers clenched around a mug of wine. He felt quite well, the shared meal suited him even if Maglor had had to carry him as he had run out of strength half the way to the dining room.  The armchair was cosy and it was a nice change after the weeks of laying in bed, and the company of more than two brothers was not burdensome at all.

They started talking about all the problems the brothers had had to deal with at the very beginning of organising their settlement. The younger brothers made Maglor answer for all the mistakes in front of their eldest. They were all responsible for most of the setbacks, but officially Maglor was the one in charge. Maedhros glanced at him to check if he wasn’t going to take it all seriously and go blame himself, but they all shared the light mood and nobody was worrying.

Celegorm recalled the time when half of their elves had gotten sick because they had not cared enough for the water. After time, the whole situation sounded ridiculous, but Maedhros had no doubts it had not been so amusing then. Now it was good to hear his brothers jesting instead of tiptoeing around him.

“You were not so amused when you went after Amras and it got you during the ride, were you?” Maglor finally snapped back.

Despite what Maedhros expected, Celegorm did not laugh but rather winced. It was Amras who surprised him, though, as he loudly pushed his chair from the table and left abruptly without a word. Maedhros stared at his other brothers and his nephew. Caranthir seemed unsure, Curufin looked as if something pained him. Maglor muttered something Maedhros didn’t catch, but it didn’t sound approvingly.

“What is this all about?” He asked, seeing that none of his brothers was going to explain.

“I spoke out of turn,” muttered Maglor. He sighed and continued. “Amras learned about Losgar then, that’s why Tyelko went after him,” he hesitated for a moment, then added. “It was just after we sent the Moringotto’s emissaries away.”

Maedhros just nodded, though he suspected there was more than Maglor said. During those weeks before his capture Maedhros was very close with Amras and he stopped him from leaving their camp more than once. He suspected that if he hadn’t watched him then, Amras would have fled. Maglor must have feared the same when their brother learned about Curufin’s part in the burning of the ships.

The eldest son of Feanor placed his mug away and threw the blanket from his knees. Maglor and Caranthir, being the closest, rose at once. Maedhros accepted their help to get up, but then shook off their hands. He wanted to talk to Amras alone.

“Sit down,” he commanded and made first few, careful steps, being watched by five pairs of eyes.

Maglor was staring at him and Maedhros didn’t have to turn around to know his brother was very uneasy. The singer did not oppose and remained by the table, though he did not sit down; he would most likely want to follow Maedhros.

Step by step, watching the floor and leaning against everything he could, so that his freedom would not end too quickly with a fall, Maedhros made his way to the door and stepped out on the corridor. Somewhere half the way he realised how fruitless his attempt to find his brother would be, if Amras had left the house. Nevertheless, he closed the doors behind him to stop his other brothers from assisting him. Fortunately Amras was still on the corridor and came to him once he saw him.

“Maitimo, what are you doing here alone?”

“I wish to talk to you.” Maedhros grabbed the doorframe, determined not to fall. It seemed that those few steps had drained him from all the strength he had this evening.

“Forgive me, I didn’t intend to worry you.” Amras placed his shoulder around him and supported him. “I’ll go back to the table.”

“No, I wish to talk to you in private... And I’ve had enough of sitting by the table for tonight,” admitted Maedhros; he was aware he was not going anywhere on his own.

“I see,” muttered Amras. “I’ll carry you, alright?” he offered brightly. He waited for his elder brother to agree before taking him. Instead of carrying Maedhros to his room, though, he pushed the door of his own.

“We’ll talk in here,” he grinned, seeing his brother’s surprise.

He was pretending to be cheerful and perhaps Maedhros would have been deluded, had he not just seen his brother storming out of the dining room. The fact that Amras was able to hide his emotions so quickly was one of the things he could not get used to.

Amras placed him on his bed and helped him lay down comfortably; he himself sat on the floor with his legs crossed. The smile never left his lips, but more sincerity appeared in it.

“Makalaure told me what was that about,” inquired Maedhros, though as soon as he lied down, he had to force himself to keep his eyes open; the wine he had drunk affected him more than usually.

“I already told you I didn’t mean to worry you,” repeated Amras irritated. “Kano startled me, that’s all.”

“You smile,” noticed Maedhros, seemingly answering his own thoughts. “I didn’t think, then, that you would ever smile again.”

“Me neither.” Amras became serious, surprised by the change of the topic. He was no longer looking at his brother, his eyes on the floor; he fiddled nervously with his braids. He was visibly displeased with the way this conversation was going. “But you too did not forget how to do smile,” he gently pointed out.

 _‘No, I did not,’_ realised Maedhros with astonishment. This evening had proved he still knew how to make his lips curve into a smile and he was sincere in it. Amras, however, seemed to be hiding behind his merriness and his other brothers must have grown used to it.

“He didn’t know, Maitimo,” said Amras suddenly and he looked at his brother with his keen eyes. “Curufinwe. I remember how he reacted there, on the beach. He didn’t know where Ambarto was, just like he didn’t know if Tyelpe too wasn’t on the deck.” Amras let his mask fall for a moment; his eyes were hard as steel. “If he knew, you would have found only four brothers here. Or three perhaps.”

Maedhros shivered at the mere thought, which didn’t go unnoticed. The youngest son of Feanor softened and smiled.

“If anyone heard us now, they would definitely scold me for troubling you. Especially Kano.”

“Mmm...” Maedhros closed his eyes, but fought sleepiness for a moment longer. “You talk,” he noticed. “You and Curvo.”

“Well.” Amras shrugged his shoulders. “We do, now. I couldn’t ignore him forever,” he spoke monotonously and Maedhros was once again struck with how much he had changed. “And Kano didn’t need to be our peacemaker too. And... It was enough he would not look at me for many long months,” he confessed quietly. Then he shook his head and stated firmly. “That’s enough for tonight, Maitimo. I’ve had enough. You too, I guess.”

Perhaps if he pushed him now, Maedhros would have managed to get from Amras more of the things his brothers kept from him, but he gave up. The more prosaic problem was how to get back to his own room; he really didn’t feel like moving at all. Anyway, he moved his hand to push himself up, but Amras placed his hands on his shoulders.

“Stay,” he offered. Maedhros did not oppose.

Amras made sure his brother didn’t need anything and when Maedhros fell asleep, he left quietly. Finding Maglor was not hard, as he was sitting in his room by the desk, leaning over some sheets of paper; he seemed too unfocused to be paying attention to the documents.

“Makalaure?” said Amras at the doorstep, as his brother did not notice him.

Maglor startled and turned to the door, surprised when he saw his youngest brother.

“Come in, please,” he said carefully, inviting Amras inside, as if he needed an invitation.

“If you were looking for Maitimo, he’s in my room. And before you ask, everything is alright.” The youngest son of Feanor smiled. Maglor had been visibly overprotective for the last years and Maedhros’s return did not free him from being responsible for everything. He might not have showed it on daily basis, but it was clear for Amras how much he worried.

Maglor watched him closely, but he must have believed him, for he relaxed. Then he glanced at the papers spread on the desk and sighed.

“Good... Can you please ask Moryo to come here? I don’t get it.” Maglor waved his hand holding two sheets of paper.

“What do you have there?” Amras glanced over his shoulder. “You know, give me that. It seems I’m not going to sleep tonight anyway.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went after the HoME version of Losgar events, but perhaps my Feanor was portrayed as a bit more mad. For anyone interested, here's a story related to Reconciliation, concerning Losgar.  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/4573614
> 
> Please tell me what you think.
> 
> Also, I was wondering about finishing a short story about that water incident Tyelko mentioned. Should I?


	13. Chapter XII

**Chapter XII**

Sometimes Huan was far better company than any of Maedhros’s brothers, especially when the wounded needed peace and quiet to focus on something, and walking on his own was one of such tasks. All his brothers tended to watch his every step, no matter who accompanied him. One time Celegorm left Huan with him and it turned out the dog was a good companion, with his back high enough to be a support. Once trained, Huan was also able to push Maedhros a bit to help him up.

Maedhros used his help eagerly. Celegorm had left a moment ago and promised to come back soon, but the sick elf grew tired of sitting in his room, so with Huan’s help he went slowly on the corridor.

He walked carefully with his hand on Huan’s back. The wooden floor was polished and, as Maedhros observed with amusement, unbelievably clean. When he started getting up from bed, he refused to wear any kind of shoes, so his brothers sanded and waxed the floor right away. Who cleaned it on regular basis, Maedhros did not know, but he certainly didn’t bring any sand to his bed.

The main door opened behind him and someone hastily went inside. Maedhros ignored the sound, focused on keeping his balance, but when the steps stopped abruptly, he too stopped and turned around.

Despite what he had assumed, it was not one of his brothers. The elf that went in was as startled as Maedhros and he was staring, all his manners forgotten. The eldest son of Feanor could feel the puzzled, curious gaze, watching him, analyzing. Judging.

Maedhros tensed, his fingers unintentionally clenched on Huan’s fur. The giant dog sensed his anxiety and growled. The Noldo pulled himself together and bowed.

“Nelyafinwe,” he said perplexed and placed his hand on his heart. For a brief moment he looked Maedhros in the eye, but then he turned his gaze away.

“Who are you looking for, Calion?” asked Maedhros. As soon as he remembered his name and the elf stopped staring, he could force himself to be calm. _‘Whatever you think, I was not broken’._ Only his fingers remained clenched, hidden in Huan’s fur.

“Tyelkormo... Turkafinwe,” Celion corrected himself hastily under Maedhros’s vigilant gaze. “I have some news from south for him.”

 “Speak.”

The Noldo flustered even more, but he dutifully reported the last scout. Maedhros listened carefully, though most of the names Calion used sounded unfamiliar to him; he recognized only a few as ones he had seen on Amras’s maps. The elf was rescued from his nervous reporting by Celegorm, who joined them hurriedly and interrupted with several questions. Unlike Maedhros, he knew exactly what Calion was talking about; no wonder, as they had been close friends in Aman and often hunted together. Maedhros suspected that now Calion was probably one of his brother’s closest followers. Celegorm exchanged a few more words with him and dismissed him, promising to come later to talk with the scouting party.

“As you can see, we keep our eyes and ears open,” he smiled at his brother. He must have seen Maedhros had been stiff through the whole conversation, for he untangled his fingers and supported him without asking.

“Good news?” asked Maedhros shortly, accepting his help; standing was tiring. They slowly made their way to the dining room.

“Everything is in order,” nodded his younger brother. “But it’s high time to do something about you,” he stated critically.

“Hmm?”

“Calion could barely utter a whole sentence,” remarked Celegorm. “You make an impression, Maitimo, a huge impression. Just think what it’s going to be once we finally do something about your hair.”

Maedhros didn’t answer. He stopped abruptly at the corridor and convulsively clenched his fingers on his brother’s shoulder. Alarmed, Celegorm grabbed him tightly, but before he had a chance to ask what was going on, the sick elf doubled over and vomited.

“What’s wrong, Maitimo?” he asked fervently, but he could do little but prevent his brother from falling.

“Who... died...?” asked Maedhros in  a raspy voice, looking around anxiously.

“What?” Celegorm creased his eyebrows in confusion. “No one, Maitimo, no one. Come on.” Deciding that his brother needed to sit down and calm, before he could perhaps explain what he meant, Celegorm tried to lead him to the kitchen, as it was the nearest room. Maedhros made two unsteady steps almost hanging on his brother, but then he stopped ant looked at Celegorm with panic.

“Not there... Who, Tyelko?” he repeated insistently and glanced at the door, as if he wanted to go and check and feared it at the same time.

 _‘Tyelko. So you’re still with me,_ ’ Celegorm sighed in relief. Without asking further questions, he took his brother in his arms and carried him to his room. He could feel Maedhros shaking as he carried him and then helped him change into a fresh shirt. The sick elf slumped helplessly in the bed.

“Maitimo, why did you ask who died?” Celegorm went back to his brother’s question that was bothering him. “We are all fine and fit. If you want, I will bring the others to you, but I promise you they are fine.”

Maedhros watched him closely for a moment, but he must have believed him, for he just shook his head and reached for a mug with herbs. He took a few sips and winced.

“Nobody checked if they were still alive. Those in the nearby cells, because I was watched closely,” he muttered quietly with his eyes fixed on the blanket. “If someone died, they would lay there for days, and the smell...”

Only then Celegorm connected his brother’s violent reaction with the rotten smell coming from the kitchen. He had noticed it earlier, but he had no time to check what went off.

“Fool,” he growled, thinking about Curufin.

“Who?”

“Curvo,” grunted Celegorm. “Take him hunting... He must have left some guinea fowl in a corner, went to his forge and forgot about it...” he hastened to explain, hoping his sick brother would calm once he knew the source of the smell. “Unless we have mice again an something died behind the cupboards,” he snorted and smiled.

He succeeded, because Maedhros smiled weakly and raised his eyebrows.

“Mice?”

“Aye.” Celegorm spread his hands helplessly. “We’ve had them three times so far, Tyelpe amused himself with making traps. Once he even managed to catch Makalaure when he tried to get something from under the cupboard,” he grinned merrily. “Kano was so furious Tyelpe avoided him for the whole week.”

Maedhros returned his smile. They all knew Maglor was rarely angry, but once he got mad, it was better to get out of his way until he calmed.

xxx

Celegorm worked in silence, glancing from time to time at the other side of the yard. He was pleased Maedhros had managed to make all the way through the corridor and then sat in the shadow at the bench near the door. Celegorm asked him if he needed anything, but his brother claimed he was fine, so he let him be. After all, they were all fussing around him and with each day, each successful step Maedhros was less willing to accept their help. There were still the worse days when he would not get up at all, but most of the time he was stubbornly moving the boundaries of his limitations. Celegorm decided his brother would call him if he needed anything; so far there was no problems in that matter.

It was high time for Maedhros to get used to going out again, thought Celegorm as he glanced at his brother, who was most probably napping. Perhaps he should have brought something more comfortable to sit, but if his sick brother was going to fall asleep, he would just carry him back inside.

The yard was quite empty; the bustle of the settlement around was something Celegorm stopped paying attention to long time ago. It was relatively quiet, though, so the sudden noise of the bench falling over tore him immediately from his work.

 _‘Just wonderful,’_ Celegorm groaned inwardly as he rushed to his brother. Maedhros was laying on the ground, trying to pull his leg from under the bench. He managed to free himself before his younger brother reached him, but his strength failed him once he tried to stand up.

“Maitimo!” Celegorm knelt to help him and for a brief moment crossed his eyes with his brother’s, wide with fear, before Maedhros backed and tried to crawl to the door. He scratched the ground with his good hand, trying to free the other one from the sling with frantic movements.

“Damn it... Kano!” Celegorm shouted towards their house.” It’s alright, Maitimo! I don’t mean to hurt you!” He reached with his hand, but his elder brother glanced at him with unseeing eyes and managed to move to the doorstep.

“What’s going on?” It was Caranthir who ran from the house, not Maglor. “Kano’s gone hunting.”

Right, they had almost forced Maglor to leave the camp and get some air. The youngest took him hunting, so now the two of them had to deal with the problem.

Caranthir cut off the way of escape, but Maedhros didn’t cease struggling, trying to squeeze in the wall, helping himself with his bare feet. Somewhere nearby a whip flicked, someone must have been training horses, and Maedhros shut his eyes and cringed, protecting his arm.

“Maitimo, everything is fine!” Celegorm reached again to hold his brother, but Maedhros moved away with surprising force and backed right into Caranthir, who swore under his breath as his brother unintentionally hit him in the face. He managed to put his arms around his brother’s thin shoulders. Celegorm held his knees before he tore the skin on his feet; Maedhros consequently kept walking barefoot, as he claimed it was easier to keep balance this way.

“No one’s going to hit you, Maitimo. You are safe,” they both kept repeating, scared by his violent reaction. Having no free hand, Caranthir used his sleeve to wipe the blood running from his nose.

Maedhros struggled for a moment, but then went limp in his brother’s arms. As soon as he stopped fighting, Celegorm took him and carried him inside. Together with Caranthir they changed their brother into a clean shirt, but when Maedhros didn’t wake, the younger of the brothers went to fetch Alcarino. The healer made sure the wounded did not hurt himself, apart from bruising his leg, but promised to sit with him until he woke.

The rest of their brothers returned from their hunt just as Caranthir finished washing his face and placed his dirty shirt in a bucket. Maglor of course had to see it at once.

“Nobody came from the other side,” said Caranthir before his brother asked anything.

“So what is it?” The singer pointed at the bloodstains.

“Maitimo’s bony elbow,” his younger brother shrugged his shoulders and dried his face. “I don’t suppose he will remember it, so you may not mention it to him.”

Caranthir told Maglor what had happened and it was enough for the singer to stop looking at him suspiciously and disappear in the room of their sick brother.

xxx

“Is it bad time for me to come?” asked Fingon, seeing Maglor’s grim face as he went to greet him.

“There’s never bad time for you, you know that,” the singer rubbed his eyes. “Maybe you will be able to get to him today. He doesn’t want to talk to us, even to me.”

“Oh, has something happened?”

Maglor explained shortly what happened the previous day. Before Maedhros woke, the brothers hoped he would not remember the incident, but it wasn’t so. Their eldest brother demanded explanation and would not be told off until he heard how come he had fallen from the bench and hadn’t woken. The awareness that he had lost the sense of reality and hallucinated depressed him enough to ignore his brothers.

“So it is you now?” Maedhros greeted him with a sigh. He was laying covered so tightly with blankets Fingon felt breathless even by looking at him.

“I just wanted to see how are you.” Being forewarned by Maglor, Fingon was not going to let Maedhros get rid of him. He made sure it was only the blankets at the edge of the bed and he sat down freely.

Maedhros muttered something incoherent and looked away. He was silent for a long time and Fingon was bracing himself to start a conversation, when he spoke suddenly.

“You should have killed me.”

Oh. Fingon was startled as he had not expected his mood to be this bad. What Maedhros said had been his private nightmare for the last two months, the inevitability of shooting his friend returning over and over again at nights. He waited and waited, prolonged the moment when he would have to pull the string, Maedhros’s pleas ringing in his ears, but the help never came.

“Do you have any idea what you asked for?” Fingon finally answered with a question. “Manwe had a reason to show mercy and send help.”

“And what was the purpose of saving me?” Maedhros exploded with bitterness that must have risen in him from some time. “What for? What can I do?!”

“More and more with every passing day,” remarked Fingon. “Not much time has passed and you are making a great progress already. You could barely move last time I was here, and now I’m told you are walking again.”

“I can barely move today,” muttered the sick elf. “And we have no time. You would have spared my brothers a lot of trouble and Kano would have been able to focus on more important things.”

“And do you really think they would prefer to hear from me that I had to kill you?” retorted Fingon, perhaps too harsh. “Look me in the eye and tell me your brothers would want you dead instead of getting you back. That if it had been Kano in your place, you wouldn’t rather have him. No matter how damaged.”

Maedhros winced and shut his eyes. Fingon cursed himself for his choice of words, but it was too late to take them back. The wounded pulled himself up a bit after a moment, uncovered his hands.

“How do you think am I supposed to fulfil the Oath? How?” he asked in a raspy voice; his still hollow eyes were full of despair. “Tell me, how am I to fight Moringotto if I am not even a master of my own mind? How can I be sure I would not lead my brothers to death only because my thoughts were shadowed by terror? In the brightness of the day?!”

“Certainly not by letting those dark whispers of Moringotto win,” replied Fingon sternly. “If you give up now, he will break not only you, but your brothers as well.”

Maedhros inhaled deeply and turned his head away, ostensibly ignoring his cousin. Fingon let him and for quite a long time they sat in silence, but finally he broke it.

“So?” he asked defiantly. “Shall we try to go out?”

“So I can make a show of myself once again?” Maedhros did not brighten at all. “No, thank you, I prefer to stay at home.”

“I won’t let you fall,” Fingon replied simply. “And I want to talk to you, not to watch you sleep.”

“We are talking all the time,” the wounded pointed out, but he could easily guess what his cousin meant.

“It’s quite stuffy here, let’s go out.” Fingon was in that comfortable position that he could be as stubborn as Maedhros and nag him without worrying he would have to put up with him later.

 The eldest son of Feanor gave up and sat. He let Fingon tie a sling on his neck but refused to put on any shoes.

“I’ll go barefoot.”

Once pulled up, Maedhros clang to Fingon and walked very unsteadily, so that before they reached the door, Fingon was ready to agree it wasn’t the best idea. But when he mentioned that maybe they should go back, Maedhros just glared at him with offense and stubbornly limped to the main door; his bruised leg almost gave out, but they managed to reach the bench outside.

“So?” asked Fingon freely. “It’s better, isn’t it?”

“If you’re not going to leave me be until you hear so, then yes,” muttered Maedhros, offended. He allowed Fingon to place a thin blanket around him and leaned his head against his cousin’s shoulder, but he couldn’t hide neither how tensed he was nor his hand grasping his friend’s for support. Despite what Fingon had claimed earlier, they sat in silence.

 


	14. Chapter XIII

**Chapter XIII**

Convincing Maedhros to let them cut his hair proved to be easy. The sick elf accepted the fact that he needed to look decent if he started moving more freely and going outside.

“What do you think?” asked Amras, combing his brother’s damp hair.

Cutting the ends made the longest strands wave by the ears. Amras cut as little as he could, seeing how unhappy Maedhros was, but he had little choice. As the result the haircut was a bit more regular than earlier, but still far from ideal.

Maedhros combed his hair with his fingers and brushed them from his forehead. He watched himself in the mirror and Amras caught his brother’s reflection staring at him.

“It’s short,” sighed the sick elf, barely containing his bitterness.

“I can’t do much more,” claimed Amras. “Soon we’ll get rid of those dull endings. Look how nice they grow now,” he caressed the hair on the top of his brother’s head.

“Mmm... Yes, I suppose.” Maedhros made an effort to show some enthusiasm and failed.

“You don’t like it.” Amras leaned and embraced him from behind, resting his chin on his head and looking at the reflection. “That’s good,” he said suddenly and smiled.

Maedhros in the mirror looked at him, puzzled, then grabbed one of Amras’s long braids hanging down up to his ribcage. He entwined it around his fingers, examining carefully the bead on its end.

“Tyelpe made those,” said Amras, as if answering an unvoiced question. “Curvo teaches him well, Russo.”

Maedhros stirred hearing the name no one had called him in a long time. He let go of the braid, not really hiding his longing look, and Amras leaned forward to reach for the scissors.

“What do you intend to do?” asked Maedhros at once, glaring at his hand.

“Cut it,” Amras just shrugged. If his brother felt bad seeing his long hair, he was willing to shorten them.

“No!” Maedhros stopped him. “You look good this way, don’t do that...”

“Are you sure?” Asked the youngest son of Feanor, glancing at his brother’s hand, then at his reflection. “Alright, alright!” He surrendered, for Maedhros fished the scissors from his grasp.

“Don’t even think of that!” The elder brother shook the scissors and placed them as far as he could.

Instead, Amras removed a few beads from his braids and examined his brother’s hair. There was no way for him to braid them, but he could put the jewellery on them. Maedhros kept his eyes on the reflection and watched him with interest.

“What would you say?”

Maedhros carefully shook his head, but the beads didn’t fall. He smiled uncertainly to his brother and nodded. Amras hastily tied his loosened braids behind.

“Breakfast?”

xxx

“Curufinwe, wait.” Maedhros called after his brother as he was already at the doorstep.

Curufin stopped obediently, not really hiding his impatience; his son was waiting for him.

“What is it, Maitimo?”

“Take me to the forge with you,” asked the eldest brother, pushing himself from the table.

“Of course, if you wish so.” Astonished, Curufin waited for his brother to rise and join him.

Maedhros caught Curufin glancing at his feet, as he was probably going to say he would not take him to the forge barefoot, and then the surprise on the smith’s face as he saw the shoes. The idea of going to the forge was not spontaneous; Maedhros decided  few days earlier that he would have to confront the noises that troubled him so.

“Why the sudden interest?” asked Curufin and supported his brother, as they were going for a longer walk.

“I want to see what you’re doing.” Maedhros watched the floor closely, as he felt a bit unsteady in shoes; walking barefoot was much easier.

“Right now? I’m about to finish hinges for the main gate. Moryo wished them to be more decorative,” replied the smith. “Are you sure you want to go there?” he worried as his brother stopped by the main door and leaned against the doorframe to rest a bit. “It’s stuffy there.”

“I have to see what you are doing,” repeated Maedhros. He hoped that once he saw what his brother was doing with his son in the forge, the urge to run away would disappear. It had been embarrassing enough when he had sat with Fingon and his fingers had clenched convulsively at his cousin’s hand with every bang of an anvil.

They didn’t make half of the way through the yard when Maedhros simply stopped and leaned heavily on his brother.

“No rush,” muttered Curufin, adjusting his grasp. Celebrimbor calling from the forge that everything was ready contradicted him.

Maedhros looked at the distance to the forge door and decided he had overestimated his strength. There was a bench by the well only few steps away; it was Caranthir’s idea to put those heavy, solid benches with high backrests all around the yard. They looked as if someone had abandoned them there, but they gave Maedhros an opportunity to rest and the backrest helped him rise.

“Atto!” Celebrimbor called again and Maedhros made a choice.

“Leave me here for now,” he said, turning towards the bench.

“Are you sure? I can...”

“No,” Maedhros cut him off. He let go of Curufin and sat down. He had a deal with his brothers that outside the house he was moving on his own; if his strength failed him, he was going to try again in a week or two. _‘You will not carry me like a doll,’_ he had said to his brothers and Maglor had winced at this expression.

“Off you go!” He pushed Curufin and watched him go.

His younger brother joined his son and Maedhros leaned comfortably. He knew he wasn’t going to sit there for long; it was far too hot for him and there was not even a scrap of shadow.

The first bang on the anvil took him by surprise and his heart raced. _‘Curufinwe, it’s just Curufinwe,’_ he repeated, but the images lurking at the edge of his consciousness already crept on him, painting the images of Angband’s dark forges; the shoes on his feet felt like shackles. Maedhros fought the urge to curl and protect his head and his arm, he forced himself to open his eyes and stared at his brother’s smithy. He could not force his muscles, painfully pulling at his barely closed wounds on his back, to relax.

Determined not to repeat the incident from the last week, Maedhros rose on his feet. He could either try to return to the house or go to the forge. The latter was closer and it had been his initial destination.

He made a few steps, partly aware how absurd it was to escape the sun heat only to go right to the forge. Mostly he just wanted to get to his brother, to reassure himself there was no reason to become agitated.

Something fell in the forge with a loud bang. Maedhros tried to step back and lost his weak balance. He fell forward with a curse on his lips, instinctively reaching with both of his arms to soften the fall.

Celebrimbor was less busy when he and his father heard the cursing. He was first to leave his tools and run outside and he wasn’t really surprised when he saw Maedhros sitting on the ground, furious and humiliated.

“Are you alright, Maitimo?” Celebrimbor leaned and swiftly pulled his uncle up instead of giving him a hand.

“I asked you something,” hissed Maedhros, irritated. He tried to shake off his nephew’s hand keeping him upright, but Celebrimbor didn’t let him, seeing how his knees were buckling.

“That’s enough for today, isn’t it?” Curufin joined  them and examined his brother. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“No!” growled the eldest son of Feanor. He used the fact that Celebrimbor let go of him and wiped off some dust.

 Celebrimbor made some place for his father, knowing that Maedhros was more likely to accept the help from one of his brothers, but before they reached the house, he supported his uncle from the other side. Maedhros stopped by the door to his room to catch his breath, but then he firmly freed himself from their arms. His narrowed eyes were furious.

“Nelyo, are you sure you are alright?” Curufin looked at his brother worriedly and Maedhros exploded.

“I told you I am!” He pushed himself from the wall and opened the door. “Can’t you just leave me alone?!” He went in a bit unsteadily and slammed the door behind him. At the corridor, the father and son exchanged helpless glances.

Just like the wounded elf wished, nobody disturbed him for the following hours. It was Amras, being unaware of the morning incident, who came back home and was first to realise that they had made a mistake.

When he came in, at first he thought Maedhros was just sleeping, but then he noticed his unusual position. His eldest brother was lying curled on his left side with the pillow on the other and of the bed, so that he was facing the door. He kept his knees up to his chest, with shoes still on his feet; his face was tight and his cheeks flushed. He was hugging his maimed arm protectively. And first of all – he did not react to Amras’s presence, though he had been a light sleeper recently. When light shaking too did not wake him, the youngest son of Feanor went to fetch the healer.

xxx

_The light hurt his eyes, bright, brighter than stars or the Trees. It didn’t allow him to open his eyes. It should not have been so bright in there... The golden gleam forced him to turn his head away, to give up. Did he know it? Had he forgotten? Because surely the dungeons were black, dark and stifling._

_His ribs hurt with each breath, his back burned. His hand...? He knew not what had happened to his hand, but he curled when he was touched, feeling he needed to protect it._

_The hands that were touching him tried to force him to uncurl. Strong, steady hands which tried not to cause him unnecessary  pain. A voice muttering soothingly was pleasant to listen to._

_The voice... He knew it. Soft, tender, yet strong. ‘You are safe.’ It sounded as if the speaking person could protect him with the voice alone. Kano...? The light dazzled him, didn’t let him open his eyes, but the touch was nothing like torture. Whatever those known-unknown hands were doing, they wanted to help him. Moryo...? Skillful, strong hands... Tyelko perhaps? You’re safe, don’t worry. Atar...? No, he was dead. But the voices over his head sounded familiar, safe. It’s your brothers._

_A stronger grasp, a jerk. Someone managed to straighten his arm, forcefully, without asking. Why...? Whoever did that, they kept him firmly and did not let him escape. Maedhros felt his panic raising. He was supposed to be safe, his brothers promised nothing could happen to him... The pain in his arm intensified as if someone was tearing the skin. What did they come up with this time?_

_He wanted to scream once the thought appear in his head. There were no brothers. They did not come for him. He was alone; just him and the tormentors, the blinding light and illusions._

_‘Drink.’ A request at first, then an order, a mug pressed to his lips. A poison or a cure to make him live longer? He turned his head away, but the plea was repeated, calmly, urgently. All the more, he could not trust it._

_He struggled, his ribs protested. He lost his breath and with the lack of air came the wave of fear._

_More hands pinned him to something soft, someone forced some sour liquid down his throat. He spat as much as he could, choked with the rest. His lungs burned, his shallow breath turned into rasps. And the voice... apologized? So now they wanted to torment him with the memories from home? Surely his brother would not hurt him...?_

_Whoever was giving him drink, they were stubborn. The second time Maedhros gave up. They gave him the liquid in small sips, raising him high and immobilizing him. If they wanted to heal him a bit before further torture, at least he would stop hurting for a moment. And if it was poison..._

xxx

Maedhros was sleeping restlessly and Maglor felt as if those horrid days from a month ago returned all over again. The wounded said nothing about the consequences of his fall on the yard and when the fever rose, he could not wake up and did not recognize the surroundings. The singer had kept him all the time when Alcarino searched for the reasons of his condition and Maedhros reacted with blind denial to any order. He calmed only after Maglor forced him to swallow some herbs. The healer agreed to stay with the wounded until the fever break, so they sat together with Maglor, chatting quietly.

Maedhros moved and opened his eyes. He looked at Maglor and immediately shut his eyes back, turning his head away.

“Nelyo?” The singer leaned over the sick. “Nelyo, do you need anything?”

“G-go away,” hissed Maedhros. “St-top it, s-stop it,” his tight voice was full of desperate plea.

“What’s going on, Maitimo? Why do you want me to leave?” asked Maglor nervously and reached for his brother’s hand. Next thing he knew was Maerhros’s fingers clenched around his wrist with surprising force.

“You are not real.” The hallow eyes of the sick elf shone when he met Maglor’s. “Go away, go away! D-don’t torment me! Leave...” His voice broke into a muffled sob. Maedhros moved his hand and turned on his right side, hugging himself.

“Maitimo, but I...” Maglor fell silent, not sure how to respond to such accusation. He backed a bit, still watching his brother.

“L-leave me alone,” muttered Maedhros into his pillow.

Maglor backed away, hurt and anxious, he sat on his heels. He sent the healer a helpless glance. Alcarino nodded slightly and took the lead.

“What is it, Nelyafinwe?” he asked calmly and sat on the right side of the bed.

Hearing another voice, Maedhros glanced vigilantly at the elf. He blinked, surprised, but mistrust did not leave his eyes, rather opposite.

“Don’t curl like that, you won’t be comfortable this way.” The healer calmly but firmly placed his hands on the sick elf’s shoulders and forced him to lay flat on his back. Maglor winced as he saw his brother’s expression, but did not interfere.

“Let me, Nelyafinwe.” Alcarino then reached for the maimed arm and placed it carefully on a pillow. “You tore some stitches, I don’t want you to lie accidentally on your arm,” he spoke smoothly as if he didn’t see the the wide, suspicious eyes of his patient.

“Don’t touch...” hissed Maedhros and he tried to cringe again, but the healer’s hands did not let him. He tried to shake them off, but he just winced and froze.

“Nelyafinwe, Nelyo. I’m not going to do anything right now,” promised Alcarino. “Careful with the arm, I know it’s tender. By the way, it was foolish not to tell us anything,” he added more sharply. “You are still weak and so are your bones. You should have told us. Yes, you have broken a rib when you fell,” he explained, seeing the puzzled look of the wounded.

Maedhros blinked again and focused his gaze on the healer. Understanding appeared in his grey eyes.

“...’Rino?” A-Alcarino?” he asked hesitantly, relief almost breaking his voice.

“Yes,” the healer smiled. “You are safe, with your brothers,” he reassured him.

“Not... dungeons...?” Maedhros stared intensively at Alcarino without blinking. “Not...?”

“No, you are by the lake, with your bothers,” the healer repeated calmly and pointed at the crouching singer.

Maglor swallowed bitterness raising in his throat when he watched as Maedhros let Alcarino convince himself, as he believed and trusted him. It hurt that his brother had escaped from him just a moment earlier, even if it was the fever messing with his thoughts and bringing again some nightmares.

Maedhros looked as Alcarino pointed him and when he crossed his eyes with Maglor, the singer made sure none of his emotions showed on his face.

“Kano... Kano...” The quiet voice of the wounded turned into a hiccupped sobs. His slim fingers, so far clenched into a fist, reached for his brother. “It’s you... you, isn’t it?”

“Of course it’s me, Nelyo.” The smile on Maglor’s face was not forced as he entwined his hand with his brother’s, sitting again on the bed. He leaned and kissed his forehead, still a bit warm. “I’m real,” he promised. “And you are safe, nobody is going to touch you here. But Alcarino is right, don’t frighten us like this again, please?”

“Real...” Maedhros moved closer and buried his nose in his brother’s tunic, their fingers still curled.

Maglor sat more comfortably and placed his right arm over Maedhros’s head. He put his fingers into his brother’s hair, trying to untangle Amras’s beads from them. Maedhros did not escape his touch, just cuddled closer. The singer exchanged satisfied looks with the healer and picked one of his old melodies.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit harsh that was, perhaps, but I felt like the recovery was all ups and downs. What would you say?


	15. Chapter XIV

**Chapter XIV**

They sent for the healer in the late morning as it was agreed – as soon as Maedhros woke. Alcarino passed Maglor in the doors to the sickroom and suggested that they should be left alone. The singer nodded and muttered something about breakfast, but did not seem offended.

“How are you feeling?” asked the healer as he sat on a chair.

“Alright.” Maedhros responded automatically.

“I don’t ask to bother or bore you,” Alcarino reminded him. “I need to know, so I expect an honest answer.”

Maedhros just sighed resignedly and made a movement as if he wanted to cover himself up to his nose, but decided against it and simply wiped his eyes.

“Weak.”

“May I?” Alcarino reached to the sick elf’s face, but didn’t touch before he got a permission. Maedhros seemed reluctant to accept any kind of touch, even though he was aware where he was and with whom. The healer preferred being overly careful than agitating him unnecessarily.

“The fever is mostly gone,” he said, pleased. “Good, you respond more quickly to my treatment. You’re getting stronger.”

Maedhros snorted doubtingly and watched in silence as Alcarino uncovered the bandages on his stump. His eyes never left the healer and he followed his every move.

“I want you to tell me if something hurts. Without hiding anything.”

“Ribs, here,” Maedhros pointed at his right side. “Not much,” he added flatly.

“Arm?”

“Only when you touch it.”

“Good.” Alcarino redressed the stump and then bent and straightened the elbow joint a few times. “And with such movement?”

“No,” replied Maedhros, showing first signs of discomfort.

“I want you to sit up.”

“Later...” muttered the wounded elf and turned his gaze away. Alcarino expected his mood to be worse, but Maedhros seemed mostly just tired and disheartened.

“Now, Nelyafinwe. Let me,” he placed his hand behind his back and helped him as not to bother his tender ribs. Maedhros leaned forward and supported himself by placing his elbow on his knees. “Tell me if something’s wrong.”

Alcarino moved his arm up, watching his response. Maedhros was staring grimly at his blanket, but when his arm reached the shoulder level, he sucked air and stiffened.

“Don’t!”

“Does it hurt?” The elder elf obediently lowered his arm a bit.

“No. Leave it,” hissed Maedhros urgently. “Don’t move it up,” he requested. “What for, anyway?”

“The joints are healing nicely,” explained Alcarino calmly, letting go of the maimed arm. “I wanted to check the range of movement, you will need to exercise this arm. Now, move it as much as you can on your own.”

Maedhros sighed, irritated, but he moved his arm back and forth a few times, without even trying to lift it. As soon as he decided he pleased the healer, he hugged his arm closely to his chest. Alcarino didn’t push him more, just helped him move and lean comfortably against the pillows.

“Don’t overdo yourself today,” he ordered. “Today, tomorrow, you’re in no hurry, but you may get up if you wish.”

“I don’t.”

“Maitimo?” Called Amras from the doorstep. “What would you like to eat? Anything particular? There is some stew from yesterday’s supper, plum pie, groats if you want...”

“A pie perhaps,” muttered Maedhros with little enthusiasm; Alcarino felt he would have refused to eat at all if not for his presence. “Some milk, warm,” he asked suddenly with more interest.

“How about some bread with honey?” suggested Amras, following the line of sweets. “It’s still warm.”

“Why not.” The sick elf nodded and the youngest son of Feanor went to the kitchen. “Alcarino, would you like to eat with us?”

“No, thank you,” the healer smiled. “I will just leave you something for the fever, I’d like to eliminate it completely. Drink once you’ve eaten something,” he said and left.

Maedhros was left alone for a moment, but Amras soon returned carrying a tray with breakfast. He sat on the bed once he realised Maedhros was not going to get up. He opened the small legs of the tray and placed it on his brother’s legs.

“It’s too much,” stated Maedhros when he saw a plate full of sweet sandwiches and cake.

“It’s not just for you,” Amras smiled and grabbed the nearest loaf.

The sick elf sipped the hot milk and reluctantly reached for food. He wasn’t particularly hungry, rather weary, but honey was good, sweet, it ran down his fingers, but somehow it reminded him in a simple, childlike way that nothing bad could happen to him, that the vivid memories from the last night were not real.

He ate lazily and listened to his brother talking about his trip from the previous day. Amras was a bit quiet at first, and Maedhros felt as if he was trying to burn a hole in him with his intense stare. Soon, though, Amras became chatty and seemed not mind at all that the sick elf barely answered. The longer Maedhros listened, the more he felt like his youngest brother was hiding behind that cheeriness. He forced two loaves of bread and pushed the plate towards Amras.

‘What happened?” he asked finally, no longer able to bear the false enthusiasm of his brother.

Amras quieted a once and just shook his head. A smile returned on his lips.

“Do you want anything else?” he asked, grabbing another piece of cake. “No? Alcarino left this for you to drink,” he reached for the mug on the nightstand and passed it to his brother. “You’d sleep a bit more, wouldn’t you?”

Maedhros shuddered at the thought, but he knew what effects Alcarino’s potions had on him and he couldn’t hope they would not send him to sleep, especially after a feverish night.

“Perhaps... Not that I wish to,” he admitted without hesitation. He caught Amras’s gaze and was again struck by the sadness hidden behind the smile that did not reach his eyes. “What happened, Ambarussa?” he asked again.

“Nothing, Maitimo, nothing,” Amras reassured him with little conviction and he helped his brother lay down. “You scared he yesterday,” he confessed when he was leaning over his brother and was sure Maedhros could not see his face.

“I can imagine...” The eldest son of Feanor moved a bit, because Amras clang to him and didn’t look like he was going to let go of him. “But it was so real, I thought...”

“I know.” Amras suddenly went serious and he moved back; gone was the childishness of the young elf that had just embraced him. “I know how vivid it can be. I saw the ships. Yesterday, the day before...” he said quietly, then composed himself and tried to smile.

“Don’t do that, Ambarussa,” asked Maedhros and grabbed his hand. “Don’t hide.”

Amras swallowed and nodded, wiping his eyes with one hand, grasping Maedhros’s with the other. The eldest son of Feanor returned the grasp and suppressed a yawn.

“May I stay?” Amras asked quietly. “It’s so lonely in my... Sleep, I’ll just...”

“Yes. _Please_ , stay,” insisted Maedhros before his brother decided again he was troubling him. He too did not wish to be alone right now, and the mention of the ships suggested just how his youngest brother missed his twin. “Come here,” he moved a bit to make some space at the edge of the bed.

Amras didn’t need to be told twice. He laid on the edge and buried his nose in his brother’s arm. Maedhros closed his eyes and focused on the heat of his brother; he was safe.

xxx

Maglor feared that the fall, in addition to regress in recovery and nightmares, would depress Maedhros more than the incident with the bench. However, the sick surprised them all, because though he was weary and reluctant for the first two days, he did not push his brothers way. On the contrary, he sought their company and showed interest in anything related to the daily life in the settlement. He grasped all the information and gossip his younger brothers provided him with, as if he wanted to reassure himself that the dungeons were only illusions and shield with everything he heard.

But first of all, he was interested in his youngest brother. After that feral night, Maglor was surprised to find both of his redhead brothers sleeping peacefully in the sickroom. He knew Amras had not been sleeping well recently; no wonder, as it was another anniversary of their coming to Middle‑Earth and the burning of the ships, but his youngest brother had learned to hide well that the nightmares were bothering him again. Because of all the commotion around Maedhros, Maglor had not had an opportunity to talk to him, and he doubted Amras went to anyone else. He learned later from Maedhros’s worried questions that it was him who got him to talk. The singer told him how Amras had coped in the past years when he was sure the youngest could not hear them. He hardly hesitated; Maedhros insisted, and taking care of their youngest drew attention from his own problems, so Maglor hid nothing. Only later a knowing smile Amras sent him made him realise that the younger redhead knew exactly what he was doing, aside from the fact that he longed for Maedhros’s company.

After two days Maedhros grew bored of laying in bed and started getting up again. To Maglor’s relief he did not oppose having company during his walks, just in case.

xxx

After his last visit ten days ago Fingon was a bit anxious what he would find this time, but Amras greeted him friendly and told him Maedhros was probably in his room. He didn’t act like he was going to lead him there, so Fingon took it as an invitation to walk freely around the house.

Indeed, he heard voices from his friend’s room, but also some commotion.

“Have mercy, Moryo!” Fingon heard his cousin and he pushed the door without knocking...

Only to get some soft, richly embroidered fabric thrown right in his face. After a second look it proved to be a knee-long robe, the kind they would wear at their grandfather’s court during some official events.

“Findekano, how nice,” Maedhros greeted him with amusement, seeing his cousin froze at the doorstep with the robe still in his grasp.

The second person in the room was Caranthir standing by the open wardrobe, red up to his ears. Fingon wondered which of them had amused Maedhros so.

“I can see you are feeling better,” he smiled. “Morifinwe,” he greeted his cousin pleasantly.

“Yes, and my loving younger brother decided it is a great opportunity to throw my wardrobe inside out,” snorted Maedhros. “You’ve come just in time.”

“Pffff. I have enough of seeing you in those long shirts,” said Caranthir, offended. “Tell me he doesn’t look better this way, Findekano,” he added challengingly.

Fingon took a closer look of his friend seated comfortably in an armchair. Maedhros was wearing a soft, dark blue robe and loose linen trousers. The robe was buttoned up to his neck and so it covered the collarbones. No clothing could mask the gaunt face of the eldest son of Feanor, just like nothing hid his slim fingers or his maimed arm, but with his hair evenly cut he looked healthier than last time.

“Definitely.”

“Would you like a drink?” offered Maedhros, pointing at the carafe on the table.

Caranthir listened to the chatting as he sorted his brother’s clothes, putting away those that needed different bindings and those Maedhros refused to wear any more. He admitted that now that Maedhros was not is such a bad mood and did not ignore his brothers, their cousin’s visit was not so unpleasant. Fingon agreed the wine was good and voiced his appreciation of their trading contacts. Their own exchange, as he said, was rather poor. Finally Caranthir could not resist and joined the conversation.

“And would you like?” he asked, which caused both his brother and cousin stare at him in astonishment. “Don’t look at me like that,” he snorted, irritated. “We keep in touch and trade many things. Our smiths are considerably better, so they provide us with material and we make various things... I’m going with another delivery next week. If you wish, you may send someone, I will help you get in touch. Providing that you have something to trade, that is,” he added mockingly.

 “Of course. It’s a generous offer, Morifinwe.”Fingon smiled and bowed in thanks. “I will speak with my father about it, he will certainly wish to accept.”

“Let me know,” Caranthir summed up shortly and went out with armful of clothes. It was worth to offer such thing to their cousin to please Maedhros.

xxx

“You have worse mess than father when he got struck by an idea,” heard Curufin.

Astonished, he put away the nails and glanced at Maedhros standing at the doorstep. What surprised him more was a satisfied smile on his brother’s face. Valar, how he missed that smile! For a moment Curufin could see the old Maedhros in this gaunt shadow that was leaning against the doorframe and resting.

“I am cleaning, can’t you see?” he snorted with feigned offense, but his eyes were smiling.

“No.” His brother was looking at his workshop with visible interest, as it there was anything interesting to see. Curufin was painfully aware his temporary forge could not be in any way compared to their father’s workshops in Aman, and Maedhros was never really much into blacksmithing.

“Ehem.” Curufin cleared his throat, glancing at his brother’s bare feet, as soon as he stepped inside. “No way, Maitimo. You said yourself I have a mess in here,” he pointed out.

“I need to sit down,” said Maedhros shortly and Curufin momentarily pointed at the bench by the wall.

His eldest brother didn’t seem to be in talking mood, so Curufin went back to his work. He only placed a box at the door to allow more air inside and busied himself with all the things on the table he needed to order. He knew better than to ask Maedhros how he was feeling, so he just kept glancing at him from time to time. He changed his mind when he realised his brother sat stiffly, ready to run away, and the content that please him so had vanished.

“What’s wrong?” Do you want to go out?” he asked carefully.

“No.” Came a quick response; too quick to be genuine. “Your smithy is alright,” said Maedhros as if he was trying to make himself believe it.

“I should say so.” Curufin stopped moving the boxes. He stared at his brother for a moment, trying to understand; then it dawned on him. “Did... did they force you to work?” he asked carefully, though he feared that his brother, once pushed too much, would shy away and close on him. So far Maedhros had not spoken much about his captivity and never voluntarily. It was Alcarino who got most of the information when he tried to establish the reason of the slow healing of the wounds.

“Forges, mines, stone-pits...” said Maedhros in a flat voice. “With no light nor air... But it is alright here,” he repeated, still not entirely convinced.

Curufin suddenly realised how much the noises from his forge must have unsettled Maedhros and why he insisted so much to come here. The smith hesitated only for a moment, then decided he could improve his brother’s thoughts about forge.

“As you are already here, I have something for you,” he stated and reached inside a coffer standing by the wall. He took a long package, covered carefully with a cloth, and placed it before Maedhros.

The eldest son of Feanor looked at him with surprise and removed the cloth. He was stunned when he saw a sword and he traced the patterned grip. Finally, he decided to grab it so Curufin held the hilt and they bared the blade together.

“If it doesn’t fit you, I’ll adjust you another one.” The smith was first to break the silence. “The blade is light, it should serve you well.”

“I won’t use it without a hand,” Maedhros pointed out painfully, but he stared at the sword, mesmerized.

“So you will learn to handle it with your other,” stated Curufin simply. “I know you will.”

His left fingers felt wrong on the grip, the movement was unnatural and the sword itself was too heavy, so that Maedhros was hardly able to lift it. But just like his brother claimed, the blade was light and the eldest son of Feanor was not going to check the balance. Curufin might have claimed the right to do some adjustments, but he would surely be offended if Maedhros openly checked the blade.

“It’s too heavy for now.” Maedhros sighed with regret and placed the sword on the table. It was good to feel the familiar weight again, even if it was all amiss. “When did you do it?”

“I started the day Maglor brought you here,” admitted Curufin, suddenly abashed. He looked away, so he didn’t see Maedhros’s expression. “I hope it will serve you well.”

“Thank you, brother.”

Maedhros traced the inscriptions made by his brother on the blade. The concept of fighting with his left hand should not have sounded so foreign to him, as he had no other choice; nevertheless, Curufin surprised him with his plain statement. He was not so sure himself, but he would have to learn sooner or later. And... Curufin believed in him before he had even woken. And if his younger brothers trusted he would get a grip and regain his strength, he could not let them down.

Lost in thought, he did not see when Curufin left. Without his brother, the forge stopped looking homely at once and Maedhros found it airless. He rose slowly on his feet and went deeper into the workshop to search for Curufin.

The forge was definitely not a place for someone with as fragile balance as his. Maedhros tripped time after time and when he caught himself from falling, he pushed a box which fell down with a loud crash.

“Valar! Maitimo, what are you doing?!” Curufin ran inside and glanced at his brother worryingly.

“Nothing... Forgive me,” muttered Maedhros, embarrassed, looking at the mess at his feet. “You went out.”

“Now I am back,” the smith pointed out and led his brother from the pieces on the floor. “I told you it’s not a place to walk barefoot,” he sighed as he saw the reddened toes. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“No. Truly, Curvo,” stressed Maedhros, because his brother didn’t seem convinced. He allowed to be seated again on the bench and watched as Curufin swiped all the spilled parts and put them in a flat box. What surprised him, though, was the fact that Curufin placed it before him and then the feral box with compartments.

“Why are you staring at me?” The younger of the brothers snorted in amusement. “I told you I was cleaning and you have just messed it all.”

Maedhros took a closer look at all the small parts, then at the box which, as he suspected, was not described in any way. He sighed ostensibly.

“Do you have any particular order?”

“Put the similar ones together.” Curufin just shrugged and went back to work.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit lighter this time, I hope.


	16. Chapter XV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for delay, but, well, life happened.

**Chapter XV**

Amras’s room was empty and his bed was evenly made. Knowing his youngest brother’s latest custom, next thing Celegorm did was to check if his redhead brothers were not sleeping together again. What was more interesting, Maedhros’s room was empty as well.

The hunter cursed under his breath. They were to leave at dawn. The sun was already high on the sky and Amras was nowhere to be found. Irritated, Celegorm checked the kitchen, then glanced into Maglor’s room. His elder brother woke to the doors creaking, but he could not help.

Stable was the last place he checked, but Amras’s stallion was in his place. Celegorm went through the whole stable and left through the second door, promising silently that if Amras would not turn up soon, he would go alone and have a word with his youngest brother later, after he came back. He glanced over the corner of the building and cursed, aloud this time.

He got the right reaction. The smaller of the two redhead elves rose his head abruptly and had the decency to look guilty. Maedhros, on the contrary, rose his eyebrows in polite surprise as Celegorm got to them in a few long steps.

“What are you doing here?” Celegorm growled at both of his brothers, not sparing the eldest. “How long am I to wait before you get to work?”

“We were watching the stars,” explained Amras apologetically; he didn’t rise, though, because Maedhros was leaning against him.

“And you missed such little detail as Anar on the sky?” snorted Celegorm. “Yeah, easy to overlook. And you, are you allowed to sit like this with those ribs?” he hissed at his eldest brother, who cared little about his reproaches.

“Why not?” asked Maedhros, surprised. “It barely hurts anymore.”

Amras intended to rise, but Huan came, hearing his master’s voice, and as he saw the elves sitting on the ground, he licked the youngest, pinning him to the wall.

“You too, Huan?” groaned Celegorm in despair. “Get up before I lose my patience,” he urged Amras.

“Me too?” asked Maedhros, amused, but his eyes were serious.

“Well, we are not leaving you here alone.” The hunter leaned and got his brother on his feet; Maedhros allowed him to do that because of his ribs. “And by the way, I didn’t see you leaving.”

Both of his brothers glanced at the open window from Maedhros’s room. Celegorm shook his head in disbelief, but his eldest brother went the opposite way from the front door, leaving no place for doubts. Maedhros sat on the windowsill and looked at him expectantly when Amras was helping him put his legs inside. Celegorm creased his eyebrows questioningly.

“I thought so,” sighed Maedhros quietly. “Go, Amras, I won’t keep you any longer.”

Amras slid inside and went through his brother’s room. Celegorm rolled his eyes at this childish behaviour, but the sight of Maedhros sitting sadly on the windowsill made him come closer instead of turning away and going on the yard, as his youngest brother would be ready to go soon.

“You’re still here?” Maedhros snorted. “I thought you were in a hurry,” he remarked. Gone was his good spirit and Celegorm felt a pang of guilt. Shooing Amras was not meant to destroy his sick brother’s mood.

“Yes, we’re going as soon as Amras is ready,” he admitted carefully. He glanced at Maedhros’s grim expression and smiled. “Will you let me through as well?”

“No,” muttered Maedhros sourly; he didn’t move an inch.

“Maitimo, I can’t...” Celegorm stopped himself from finishing. _‘I can’t go and leave you sitting like this, lest you fall.’_

“What? Go around?” hissed his elder brother. “Yes, you can. I am not stopping you. I’m not going to be useful to you anyway,” he added bitterly.

“Get inside and let me through,” repeated the hunter, impatiently drumming his fingers on the frame. Then he changed the approach, struck by an idea. “Actually, I would have something for you. But you are going to need a table for that.”

Maedhros glanced at him suspiciously, but he rose on his feet. Celegorm jumped inside and looked around the room.

“You’ve got ink, excellent. I will bring you my records of our provisions,” he said, pleased, trying not to be too obvious in watching his brother and waiting for his positive response. “Moryo has been nagging me about it since yesterday. It would be best to sum it all up for him, or he’s going to complain again that my notes make no sense,” he sent Maedhros a knowing smile.

The sick elf cheered up a bit; enough to return the smile. He sat by the table and took a quill, left there probably by Maglor.

“Is this some kind of revenge?” Maedhros was clearly aware of Caranthir’s complains about Celegorm’s notes.

“Of course not. I’ll be back in a minute.”

 _‘Ha, revenge,’_ thought Celegorm, amused, rushing to his room to collect his records. But he had to admit Maedhros’s remark was accurate, considering that Caranthir would not dare to say a word about his eldest brother’s scribbles.

xxx

As usual, Amras rode fast at the yard and stopped right before Maedhros scribbling with a quill on a piece of paper. He smiled merrily to his eldest brother, seeing him sitting outside by the table he had brought there earlier with Celebrimbor. He jumped off his saddle and carefully embraced the sick elf, still keeping the reins of his mount.

Maedhros did not escape his touch, the intentions of the younger redhead were clear enough not to startle him. He didn’t really pay attention to the fact that Amras was looking at his attempts to write. His eyes were glued to the sorrel horse and his expression softened a bit. He laid back the quill and rose to caress the soft muzzle with his ink-stained fingers. The horse snorted quietly and started searching for treats.

Amras moved away to make him some room and Maedhros caressed with pleasure the shining neck of the stallion. There was something nice in that simple gesture, in the silk hair under his fingers, the muzzle nagging his cheek shamelessly; a touch so long deprived that almost forgotten.

“Would you like to ride?” offered Amras suddenly. “Are you feeling up to it? You could finally see the settlement.”

“I think so, yes.”

The offer sounded great. Maedhros was almost sure he could walk around the yard with his eyes closed and not bump on anything. Years had passed since he had last sat in a saddle, and Amras’s mount was o beautiful... His lips curved into a light smile.

“You spoiled him,” he pointed out, because the horse, seeing the elf’s interest, was getting insistent.

“He’s the youngest.” Amras grinned at him; his eyes shone with enthusiasm at his brother’s good mood. “And the fastest. Wait for me, I’ll be right back,” he added and went inside, taking the bag he had by his saddle.

He came back a moment later, without the bag, but with an apple for the horse and a green, embroidered shirt for his brother.

“You have a whole sleeve stained with ink,” he explained, seeing an inquiring look.

Maedhros twisted his arm and noticed that indeed the cuff had dark stains by the wrist. He had not noticed it earlier, focused on trying to make the letters look the right way and place words in lines. But Amras was right, if he wanted to go outside the yard, he should at least wear a clean shirt, even if all of his clothes were too wide for him; he had not allowed to have them fitted.

 He changed with his brother’s help and only then looked at the horse Amras was ostensibly feeding with an apple. At one gesture and a quiet command the stallion knelt before the eldest son of Feanor had a chance to wonder how he was going to mount.

Amras secured him when he put his leg over the horse’s back and then later, when the stallion straightened his long legs and lifted Maedhros up. The younger brother helped him sit correctly, adjusted the stirrups and glanced up.

“Alright?”

“Yes, yes.”

They drew attention as it was to be expected. At the sight of the two redhead sons of Feanor many elves looked at them, at first surprised, only to cover their dread with cheerful smiles. Maedhros understood them; he could see his reflection in a mirror everyday and he knew he looked far from healthy. He answered to the greetings and questions, watching how his Noldor managed to settle in the last years.

Amras led him between the houses through the alleys that were wide enough for a wagon to pass freely. The houses were rather small, with just one floor, mostly made of timber with stone foundations. Every other building was a bigger one, a  stable or a storage, and sometimes there was a larger space between the regular buildings – a square, a small corral or a garden. As a whole it seemed to be a rather well-planned settlement, but it was plain the buildings were made in a hurry with everything they had in hand. Safe, considering the wall surrounding the settlement, but still painfully temporary.

After a while the stares of the elves passing by became wearing. Maedhros leaned forwards and rested his good arm on the horse’s neck, reassuring Amras he wasn’t going to fall. He was not accustomed to being surrounded by crowd and he had spent the last weeks talking mostly with his brothers, Alcarino and Fingon when he visited. Even if there were other elves on the yard, they usually greeted him and left him in peace.

Amras mentioned they could go and see how Caranthir was doing with repairs by the main gate, but he caught Maedhros’s increasing anxiety and turned the other way, to the lake. He even suggested going back home, but Maedhros refused; he had not gone out to go back now only because he was alarmed by the crowd. He needed to reassure himself that there was mostly curiosity and kindness in the eyes of his elves, that they were not the creatures of Morgoth, ready to mock his every sign of weakness. For that reason he did not try to keep straight when his right arm started to ache due to his tension. He leaned comfortably, half-laying on the horse’s neck, and let Amras lead him to the lake.

They stopped by the willows leaning their branches towards the surface of the water. Amras helped his brother get down and noticed with content that Maedhros calmed and was no longer anxious, when they left the houses and the noise behind. The elder of the brothers tossed his light shoes away and, driven by some impulse, combed the grass with his toes. The movement threw him off balance, but Amras caught him in time.

They sat under a tree and Maedhros spread on the ground, not caring that the wet grass was going to leave stains on his clean shirt. Amras gave him his outer tunic to place under his head and he sat silent, wondering, because Maedhros looked like he was about to fall asleep. But when he noticed an insect on Maedhros’s arm, he hit it without thinking.

Maedhros jerked and sat up with astonishing speed, his eyes glanced around vigilantly and fell on Amras, who froze. The fear was replaced with incomprehension.

“Why did you do that?”

“Mosquito,” replied Amras weakly. “I’m sorry, Maitimo, I didn’t think...”

“Mosquito?” repeated Maedhros, lying back carefully; there was still a hint of distrust in his voice.

“Mmm, an insect,” the youngest brother rushed to explain, trying to draw attention from the incident. “No wonder we had none in Aman.”

“Are they dangerous?” asked Maedhros with interest.

“They bite,” Amras shrugged. “They leave itchy marks, nothing serious, but it’s annoying.”

“Mmm...” The sick elf spread on the ground again. “Are they numerous?” he inquired sleepily.

“It’s not bad this year, but last year there was more rain and they were everywhere. You couldn’t sit by the water.”

“I’ll risk it... Unless you have something to do?” Maedhros opened his eyes for a moment and glanced at his brother.

“No, sleep well,” replied Amras.

And so Maedhros did for the most of the afternoon. It seemed he didn’t mind hard ground or wet grass. On the contrary, the change of place and soft humming of the willows made him sleep peacefully. Only when he woke, he was confused at first.

“We missed dinner,” said Amras merrily; the sun was already beginning to set. “Kano is going to be cross with me for kidnapping you like this without a word,” he tried, watching his brother. Maedhros pleased him with his smile.

“He’ll live. He cannot imprison me there.” The smile vanished, replaced by a spasm of pain, but it was brief. Maedhros forced his lips to curve back into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

Amras pretended he didn’t see anything and gave his brother a moment to collect himself, then suggested to have a walk. Maedhros agreed eagerly, but as soon as they got to the edge of the lake, he changed his mind; the water drew him too much. He convinced Amras to sit on the edge and put his bare feet to the water, without caring that it was cold.

“Was Tyelko very angry with you?” he asked after a while.

“Not really. He had no time.” Amras smiled. “But come on, let’s go back. I’m hungry. And Kano is really going to have my head for not leaving him a word.”

“It was me who fell asleep, not you,” remarked Maedhros as he regretfully left the lake.

“But he will lecture me, not you. It’s enough for today that Tyelko is cross with me.”

They went back home more quickly, without stopping to talk with the elves passing by. Maedhros might have not wanted to go, but Amras could see he was weary, just like he was right about Maglor fretting about their absence. When they reached the yard the singer stopped his agitated conversation with Celegorm and relaxed visibly. He sent Amras a condemning look, but whatever reproaches he had in mind, he did not voice them as he noticed Maedhros’s good mood.

Celegorm was not so understanding.

“Really?! Have you lost your mind today?!” He greeted Amras. “Are you mad?”

Said redhead glanced at his eldest brother, then smiled with fake penitence and led Maedhros to the door. At his command the horse knelt and Maedhros dismounted carefully, grabbing Amras’s arm for support. The horse stood up and nagged him tenderly with his muzzle.

“What is it about, Tyelko?” asked Maedhros with astonishment. “What’s the problem?”

“The problem? The problem is that Amras endangers you needlessly,” growled Celegorm. “What kind of idea is it, letting you ride Rimpalote?”

“A good one,” replied Maedhros carefully.

“Yeah, great. Just wait till that beast teaches you how to fly and then we will talk. And Alcarino will make us all regret,” snorted Celegorm, still furious. “Damn, disobedient beast. Moody, skittish and awfully stubborn.”

“Who are you talking about so nicely?” Caranthir leaned through the window. “Ah,” he nodded in understanding. “But honestly, you two should get along.”

Maedhros seemed at loss. He sent Maglor a questioning look and the singer explained with amusement. “The only horse in the whole camp that has ever thrown Turkafinwe. Just like that. But he listens to Amras and is really well-trained.”

The eldest son of Feanor glanced at the horse. Amras was caressing its neck, but also, as he noticed with surprise, he kept the reins closely.

“But,” Maglor decided to change the subject. “Where were you?”

“By the water,” Maedhros smiled. “We would have been back earlier, but I fell asleep,” he explained and glanced briefly at Amras. “Is there any dinner left?”

“For you, perhaps,” grunted Celegorm. “And you, you take that Flower of yours away from here before he causes trouble,” he snorted at Amras and went inside.

“Tyelko really is crossed with you today,” commented Maedhros, grabbing Maglor to support himself.

“Of course he is.” Amras grinned, apparently deciding that Celegorm was not going to do anything in Maedhros’s presence. “He wanted to chase me this morning and lost. Again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this one was a bit lighter.


	17. Chapter XVI

**Chapter XVI**

Alcarino’s visits became scarce and while Maedhros had nothing against the healer himself, the longer he didn’t have to see him, the more pleased he was. After that fall on the yard Alcarino kept watching him more closely, but stopped once he made sure the broken rib was healing nicely. However, there was still one issue Maedhros would rather not go back to.

The arm. The healer left him in peace for two weeks after the wounded told him to drop the examination, but the issue was bound to return sooner or later. Alcarino came in the late afternoon, when the eldest son of Feanor was alone in his room. He asked if he should call one of Maedhros’s brothers to accompany them.

“No. I trust you,” replied Maedhros shortly. His bothers assisted him in almost everything, so there was no need to ask one of them to be present at Alcarino’s examinations.

“Alright, sit down. I want you to undress.”

Maedhros nodded reluctantly. This visit was visibly different from the previous ones and he felt he was not going to like it. Nevertheless, he sat on the bed and unbuttoned his loose robe. The healer neither rushed him nor tried to help and Maedhros was grateful for that.

For some time Alcarino just watched the pink scars on the back and sides of the younger elf. Maedhros stared blankly at the wall, trying to pretend he was not seeing that gaze, not feeling the fingers tracing his scars.

“Breathe as deep as you can,” ordered the healer. “If you feel any difficulties or pain, don’t force it. And?”

“No difficulties...” Maedhros hesitated for a moment, then admitted with a hint of surprise. “It’s better than it was before.” For the last days the tight dressing had kept the ribs immobilized and even when they had removed it, he had been breathing shallowly as not to hurt his ribs. Anyway, he was so used to the limitations that the lack of them left him astonished.

“It was badly reset earlier,” explained Alcarino. “I’m afraid such problems may occur later.”

“Mmm...” Maedhros muttered grimly and reached for the robe. “May I?” He felt too exposed, even in Alcarino’s presence.

“Not yet. I want to see your shoulder finally.” The elder elf stopped him.

“Alcarino, no...”

“We cannot delay it forever, Nelyafinwe,” said the healer firmly. “You need to exercise your arm and rebuilt the muscles. I didn’t want to start while you had problems with ribs, but it’s high time to do it. Massages are not enough.”

“What do you expect of me?” asked Maedhros shortly, ceasing his objections. “What would you have me do?”

“We’ll see. First let me see your shoulder.”

Feanor’s firstborn clenched his teeth and nodded. Alcarino elevated his right arm and rested it on the top of Maedhros’s head. He held it with one hand, while Maedhros could feel the fingers of the other on his shoulder.

Wind blew through the open window and Maedhros shivered with disgust, though the air was warm. His shoulder hurt, the pain radiating up and up and the healer’s fingers seemed to dig deep into his thin skin, into every space between the bones. ‘ _Alcarino, it’s Alcarino_ ,’ he repeated silently, but the healer was standing almost out of his sight. The next blow of the wind felt cool and his heart raced. He clenched his fingers on his robe; soft, still warm. Rich, delicate, soft, only with rough lines of embroidery. His arm moved, just like he had dangled then... The wind was cold up there, merciless; this one is warm. Porridge, he ate porridge, sweet, with apples, there was a pip inside... His shoulder burns, the next blow will tear the joint... Perhaps he will finally fall down...

Alcarino put more pressure and the sick elf jerked away, his arm swinging abruptly down. A moment later Maedhros held his arm closely to his chest, clutching it along with the robe he still had in grasp.

“Enough!” He growled, barely noticing the healer. He shivered, this time in surprise, as Alcarino tossed a light blanket on his back.

“I won’t do that anymore, I know what I needed to,” promised the healer.

Maedhros nodded reluctantly and grabbed the ends of the blanket, pulling it tightly around himself. He closed his eyes and focused on the nice, warm sensation. The aching in his shoulder slowly subdued.

“Which shirt would you like?” Asked Alcarino freely as he went to the wardrobe. “I need something where I will be able to roll up the sleeves.”

“W-what?” Maedhros raised his head and glanced at the healer unconsciously. “Doesn’t matter, really.”

He didn’t really know what Alcarino was up to, but he reluctantly let the blanket slid and allowed him to put on a shirt and roll up the sleeves. He breathed slowly and the healer did not go out of his sight.

“Give me your arm. I want to see how it works.”

The healer removed the bandages and uncovered the stump. Maedhros got used to having his arm covered under thick layers of dressings; he usually turned his gaze away when Alcarino redressed them. This time he looked at the elder elf, trying to ignore his fingers.

“Do you really have to?” he muttered without looking down.

“Let the skin breathe. It is healing nicely.” Alcarino moved his fingers down to the stump and Maedhros couldn’t help but shiver. “But that’s not it. I want you to repeat my movements as much as you are able.”

Maedhros reluctantly stretched out his arms and mimicked the healer’s gestures step by step, but his gaze ran down to the place where his wrist once was. Alcarino kept talking to him calmly, explaining the next commands, but Maedhros could not focus. His arm drew his attention and repelled him at the same time. His, not his, bones and dry skin. Bend, straighten, bend... His fingers clenched subconsciously, his arm shook in effort. _‘Focus...’_

“I’ve had enough,” he hissed finally and backed away. He reached and pulled the sleeve back down; the bony stump disappeared in the folds of fabric. The shirt rubbed against the tender ending, but at least covered it to some extent.

Alcarino nodded in agreement and didn’t push him further to have the arm on sight. He waited a moment and then reached encouragingly. Maedhros sighed and went back to exercising.

xxx

 After the exercises Maedhros was left unsettled enough to stay awake for most of the night, but he admitted that only in the morning. Nonetheless, he insisted on going to the lake and Amras accompanied him eagerly, knowing his sick brother was more likely to rest peacefully at the lakeshore; there was more air in there and the surroundings were far more quiet than the yard. Just like he expected, they walked a bit along the shore in the shallow water, but then Maedhros lied down on the grass and fell asleep.

This was how Fingon found them, as he came to visit and was pointed to seek for them by the water. He was pleased to see his friend outside the house, visibly at ease, and as he did not intend to disturb his rest, he chatted with Amras loosely.

Less than a quarter later Maedhros abruptly sat up with a cry of dismay, making them both jerk. Amras saw his brother frantically shaking off the ants walking on him and he snorted, but the laughter died in his throat as he met the unseeing eyes of the wounded.

“Get up, Maitimo,” he suggested, trying to stay calm and reaching his hand to help him, but Maedhros acted as if he didn’t hear him. His breath quickened, his forehead covered with sweat.

Fingon embraced the wounded and dragged him to his feet. Along with Amras they led him a few steps away from the feral anthill. Maedhros let them, though barely.

“Easy, Maitimo, it’s just ants,” Amras tried to reassure him, shaking the insects off. “They are not dangerous.”

Maedhros didn’t look like he had heard him. He half hung in Fingon’s grasp and shivered. Amras exchanged helpless glances with his cousin, then bent and splashed some water into Maedhros’s face, splashing also Fingon.

The eldest son of Feanor shivered, at first surprised, but then understanding showed in his eyes.

“Are you with us, Maitimo?” Asked Amras, crouching beside his brother and embracing him from the other side.

“I am, Ambarussa, I am.” Maedhros was panting as if he had just finished running. “Fin?” he asked as he saw who was embracing him.

“Yes,” Fingon smiled.” Shall we sit? There is nothing in here,” he suggested, because Maedhros was barely standing.

They sat on Fingon’s cloak. Maedhros pulled up his legs, embraced them with his arm and rested his head in his knees. Amras sat right next to him, with his hand still on his brother’s back, waiting for him to calm is breath.

“What happened?” Asked Fingon cautiously when Maedhros collected himself a bit and raised his head.

“Vermin.” The eldest son of Feanor shivered with disgust. “There was a lot of them. There, in the dungeons...” he specified as he saw his brother’s questioning look. “They were walking on me as I could not move... They had beaten me almost to death... Or that’s what I thought then,” he laughed bitterly at his own naivety.

“And you had to choose to sleep on an anthill,” snorted Amras, trying to lighten the mood. “Perhaps Kano lectures me rightly for not taking even a blanket.”

“As if a blanket would stop them.” Maedhros caught the topic and smiled mockingly. “But Findekano,” he turned towards his cousin with interest. “I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon. What brings you here?”

“I came with my brother,” explained Fingon. “They have gone today with Morifinwe to meet Moriquendi, just like we agreed.”

“Ah, right...” Maedhros leaned more comfortably against his brother. Then it struck him what his cousin had said and he moaned in despair. “Moryo. And Turukano. Went together. And you are just sitting here?” He asked, glaring sceptically at his friend.

“Easy, Findarato has gone with them,” Fingon reassured him and smiled merrily. “Besides, we cannot watch our younger brothers forever, can we?”

Amras snorted at this remark, but didn’t move away from Maedhros.

“Who went from our side, Amras?” asked his brother weakly.

“No one, as far as I know.” Amras shrugged, sharing Fingon’s amusement in that matter. “I mean, Moryo took ten of our elves, but if you’re asking whether Makalaure has gone with them, the answer is no. Besides,” he grinned at his brother. “From what I know, Kanafinwe was the last person who has fallen out with Turukano, so maybe it’s for the best.”

Fingon seemed disturbed, but Maedhros took no notice of this remark, still more worried about Caranthir and Turgon surviving the trip.

“Findarato will manage them,” repeated Fingon.

“Mmm...” murmured Maedhros, but he shook his head in doubt. “Shall we go back, Telvo?”

“Yes, of course.” Amras was back on his feet at once, helping his brother get up.

Fingon shook his cloak and went to the horse with visible interest.

“I wouldn’t do that,” the youngest son of Feanor warned him. “Rimpalote tends to be moody around strangers.”

“And you use him for Maitimo?” Fingon quirked an eyebrow.

This time it was Maedhros who smiled.

“He won’t touch a redhead.”

xxx

Despite his brothers’ and cousin’s efforts, Maedhros remained tensed and waited nervously for Caranthir. Fingon accompanied him for the most of the day, aside for an hour Maedhros spent exercising with Alcarino. At this time Feanor’s firstborn stated firmly he wished to be alone with the healer.

“They’re coming back.” Maglor popped quietly into his brother’s room quite a while after Alcarino had left. Maedhros wanted to rest a bit after the exercises, but he wished to be informed.

“Help me,” asked the sick elf firmly. The healer made him change again, deciding that unbuttoning the robe was a great way o warm up fingers in his left hand. Right now he didn’t have enough time to dress on his own in something more appropriate than a wrinkly shirt.

“Leave the shirt,” Maglor stopped him as he glanced into the wardrobe. He fished out a dark green outer tunic and helped him put it on. The tunic was only slightly darker than the sleeves of the shirt and they almost mingled into one, but the silver star on the front contrasted all the better.

Maedhros smiled in approval. He had nothing against clean, rich clothes; a little bit of luxury reminding him he could change and he had something to choose from. Besides, Maglor chose less troublesome option than the robe with countless buttons.

“Wait a moment,” said the singer before they left and he combed his brother’s hair. “That’s better,” he smiled.

They joined Fingon outside, but before Maedhros had a chance to sit down, lone rider came to the yard. The fair hair of the elf drew attention, his blue eyes smiling. He jumped off his saddle and smiled friendly.

“Findarato,” Maglor greeted him, ignoring the fact that Maedhros dug his fingers into his arm.

Cousin. Just cousin. Just Finrod. Maedhros stood, frozen, staring at him. Finrod seemed equally surprised at first.

“Maitimo! I can barely believe my eyes!” He laughed merrily and reached for his cousin, almost ran towards him.

The instinct was stronger. Maedhros stepped back and Maglor hissed warningly, also because his brother’s nails dug deep into his arm as he tightened his grip.

Finrod froze for a moment, then composed himself and gave up his attempt to hug his cousin. He marked his surprise with a smile, reached more slowly, friendly. Maedhros was staring at him narrowly.

“Nelyo,” muttered Maglor quietly, trying to loosen his brother’s fingers. Maedhros shivered and let go of his arm. He reached uncertainly for Finrod’s hand.

“Findarato. It is good to see you.”

“Not as good as you.” Finrod apparently decided he got the permission, because he grabbed Maedhros’s hand and then closed him in careful hug, the smile never leaving his lips.

“Where is my brother?” interrupted Fingon. “And Morifinwe?”

“Turukano has gone straight back,” explained Finrod, letting go of Maedhros, but still smiling. “Morifinwe should be here in the moment, he’s dealing with his guests.”

“See?” Fingon sent his friend a meaningful look. “Seems they both survived.”

Maedhros nodded and grabbed Maglor’s arm again, just to be sure. Finrod’s presence, especially so unexpected, unsettled him, but at the same time he was reassured the trip went well. If he could judge anything from Finrod’s enthusiasm, the talks were successful.

“And I see you survived with them,” smiled Maglor.

“Trusting me as always, I see,” snorted Caranthir suddenly. Maedhros, focused on Finrod, missed the moment when his brother joined them. He turned around and abruptly sucked air.

Caranthir was not alone. Two elves stood by his side, almost as tall as him. They wore brown, practical travelling clothes made of some fabric Maedhros could not recognize. He focused on the details, on chestnut, not overly long hair of the elf and the elleth’s silver braid; anything but their stares. The strangers froze as well.

“Nelyafinwe,” Caranthir spoke officially, breaking the silence. “Allow me to introduce Dillothel and Gilorn, our friends.”

The elleth was first to recover, she stopped staring at Maedhros and bowed. Her companion followed her a moment later. Maedhros nodded back, trying to understand what Caranthir had in mind,  bringing strangers like this, with no forewarning. But his younger brother was not done with formalities, he just changed the language.

“You are standing before Nelyafinwe Feanarion, the High King of Noldor, who had much...” The rest Maedhros did not understand; he had grasped only some words from the language of Middle-Earth elves in captivity, but his titles were used as mockery in every possible language.

Caranthir spoke probably about the tortures and captivity, for the strangers looked embarrassed and turned their gazes away. Then Caranthir told them about his saving when he introduced Fingon. Surprising how well-mannered he could be when it came to trading contacts, mused Maedhros, trying not to remember where he had heard this language last time and what pleas had come out among moaning. There was pride in his brother’s voice, love and respect, perhaps a hint of superiority towards the guests, but though he spoke in foreign language, it was still Caranthir speaking, not anyone else. When he finished, Maedhros collected himself enough to ask the guests inside and offer a meal; he did not let go of Maglor’s arm even for a moment.

xxx

The supper was pleasant. Caranthir took care of his guests, visibly dumbstruck in Maedhros’s presence, leaving his cousins to his brothers. Maedhros praised the wine bought from the Sindar and voiced his approval to their trading contacts, but then he backed off from the discussion, letting Caranthir lead the conversation. He sat comfortably in his armchair, ignoring his plate, though Maglor had given him only food that could be dealt with using only one hand. He barely touched his meal, he gave up quickly and occasionally reached only for his goblet with wine. At first Maglor translated the most important things from the talk, but then he engaged himself in conversation with Fingon.

At some point the Sindar went quiet and Dillothel, who was sitting next to Caranthir, leaned towards him and finally braced herself to ask about their king’s captivity. She kept glancing at Maedhros, which quickly got his attention. Caranthir answered her shortly and coldly, but Gilorn joined as well.

They were both interested in the fact that they were sitting with an elf who had survived being captured by the Enemy and managed to break free. They glanced at the eldest son of Feanor with respect and coyness, but also with hope that he might know something about their folk. They did not dare to disturb the miraculously rescued elf, so they were trying to get an answer from Caranthir, mentioning the names of their missing elves. Maglor was just wondering how to kick his brother under the table to make him change the subject, when Maedhros spoke out loud.

“They live,” he said in Quenya and then, seeing the questioning looks of their guests, he switched into Sindarin, surprising his brothers. “Much... live. There... death best...” His voice was raspy, he spoke slowly, searching for some words he knew.

The language of the Middle-Earth elves sounded harsh in his mouth, almost obscene. Maglor felt his cheeks flush as soon as he thought that. Who knew where Maedhros had learned the language? And from who?

“So the rumours are true?” Gilorn leaned over the table. “Those lost... What happens to them?” The question was quiet, as if he was afraid to get an answer.

Maedhros must have understood, for he closed his eyes for a moment, exhaled deeply, as if forcing himself to remain calm. And then he stared back at his interlocutor so intently he turned his gaze away.

“Labour. Dungeons. Much... Death,” he spat singular words, and as he spoke, his breath broke and quickened. “Tortures. Pain... Humiliation. They... work. Dark. No star. Never.” Maedhros’s fingers turned white, clenched on the armrest, his whole thin body shaking. “No... No out. Never. Lotuialdis. Was. Orthor. Tortures.” He enlisted two of the names mentioned before in the talk with Caranthir.

Maglor covered his shaking hand with his own, but he didn’t know if he could interrupt. Next to them, their cousins listened in horror, because even if they did not understand, they certainly grasped the meaning of Maedhros’s words.

“But you succeeded.” Dillothel was staring intently, catching his every misspelled word. “You managed to escape.”

“No... alone... Not... dungeons...” With each word it was harder for Maedhros to speak, but he did so anyway, looking at their guests; he seemed to be almost shining, his eyes burning with anger, disgust and hatred. “They... never... I...” He choked, stopped, his shining eyes fell on Maglor and he switched back to Quenya. “I don’t know what is it about them now... My news are... old...” There was fear close to panic in his eyes. “How... long... did I...”

“I don’t know.” Maglor shook his head, fighting the urge to embrace his brother. He knew Maedhros would not wish it before so many witnesses; not when he was doing everything not to show his weakness.

“Before the sun rose,” whispered Feanor’s firstborn. “How long...?”

At his right, Finrod almost choked and Maglor felt the supper rise up in his throat when he realised what his brother had said. What kind of the Enemy’s curses had kept him alive so long? Caranthir was explaining something nervously, but Maglor didn’t listen. Next to him, Maedhros closed his eyes for a moment, but then opened them and looked around vigilantly, seeking for his brothers.

“Later, Nelyo,” spoke Maglor quietly. “Look at me. You are here, with me, with us. Nelyo, Nelyo, Russo,” he whispered, drawing circles on the top of his brother’s hand. Maedhros was looking at his hands, but he was still shaking.

“Kano... Can’t... breathe...” Maedhros was close to panic, but did everything he could not to lose it in front of the strangers. He tried to reach for his goblet, but his hand shook too much.

Gilorn broke the terror and rushed to apologise, but Maedhros reacted to his words as if he had been hit. Caranthir ordered him to stop and the elf silenced. Maglor decided it would be best to take his brother out.

“Come, Maitimo,” he said calmly. “On the corridor, outside, wherever you want. It won’t be so stuffy.”

Maedhros muttered something in agreement and rose with his help. Seeing he was still shivering, Maglor was ready to support him, but his brother straightened and moved away. He bowed slightly to their guests and went unsteadily to the doors. He held his head up and did not cringe.

The last thing Maglor saw was the sheer admiration in the wide open eyes of their guests. When he closed the door and supported his collapsing brother, he was sure the Sindar would soon sing about the unbroken king of Noldor.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the length makes up a bit for delay.


	18. Chapter XVII

**Chapter XVII**

Maedhros woke up hungry. This plain sensation surprised him, as he expected rather the opposite. The fact was, though, that he was well-rested despite the unpleasant ending of the previous evening and his stomach reminded him that he had barely touched his supper. His room was pleasantly chilly after the night and the sun was glancing inside through the open window; high time to get up.

The previous evening mingled somehow from the moment when Maglor took him from the dining room. They had surely talked and for some reason his younger brother seemed to be on verge of tears. Then Maedhros let him prepare one of Alcarino’s potions and he slept peacefully for the whole night.

He would have gone to the kitchen just like he was, if it wasn’t for the fact that he could meet strangers. He washed his face and changed the wrinkled shirt; he had not bothered to undress in the evening.

He suspected correctly, because though Caranthir’s guests were nowhere to be found, he met Maglor and Amras with their cousins in the kitchen. Only his youngest brother looked fresh, the rest of them seemed rather sleepy over their plates.

“Have you forgotten to offer beds?” Maedhros smiled at Maglor, glancing knowingly at their cousins.

“We stayed up all night,” the singer admitted sheepishly and rubbed his eyes. He loudly pushed his chair from the table.

“Sit,” Maedhros stopped him and glanced into the pot on the cooker. The meat was cold, but cut into pieces and it smelled delicious. He fished out a piece on a free plate, ignoring his younger brothers, especially Maglor, who shifted uncomfortably.

“Would you like some milk?” Amras, busy around the long table, glanced questioningly at his brother. “Juice?” He offered when Maedhros shook his head.

“Could be.” The eldest son of Feanor nodded and sat next to Maglor. He cast his cousins a questioning look, seeing that they stopped eating. “Has something happened?”

“No, noting.” Fingon shook his head and smiled at his friend. “It’s just that the morning came no one knows when.”

Maglor still looked a bit tensed, though he smiled as well. Even Finrod seemed somewhat anxious, but soon he engaged himself in conversation with Amras and the uncomfortable silence was gone.

Maedhros decided against asking what they had talked about at night; he would ask his brother later, alone. Their cousins became chatty and along with Maglor they were a pleasant, though a bit sleepy company. Amras ate hastily and went out, explaining that he promised to help Caranthir, but the cousins waited for Maedhros to finish his meal before Fingon stated it was high time for them to go back.

xxx

In comparison to the morning, around the noon the yard was completely empty and, what Maedhros realised at some point, boring. Fingon and Finrod had left, glancing at him weirdly even as they had said goodbye. Maglor followed his brother’s advice and went to catch some sleep; Maedhros checked it later by glancing through the open window in his room. Despite what he and their cousins had claimed, he seemed rather hungover.

Before Caranthir and Amras disappeared with the SIndar, Gilorn surprised Maedhros by greeting him in clumsy quenya and uttering apology for disturbing him the previous evening. The eldest son of Feanor did not try to reply in Sindarin and left the translation of their short conversation to Caranthir.

Boring. Maedhros sat for a while on the empty yard, but at some point he decided he’d had enough. There was no point in waking Maglor just because he felt lonely, and the rest of his brothers and Celebrimbor had gone to trade somewhere in the settlement; only Celegorm had left for a hunt and wasn’t back yet. Then Maedhros thought about Alcarino and his exercises. The healer mentioned he would come in the afternoon, but what stopped Maedhros from going to him...

He stood up and went slowly across the yard. He knew Alcarino lived in one of the nearby houses. Who said he could not check in which? He was in no rush...

Right behind the forge there was an alley going the opposite direction than the way they went with Amras to the lake. Maedhros didn’t know it, but there were gardens between the next few houses, so it seemed logical one of them had the healer’s herbs. He went along the wall, just in case he needed support, but the forge ended and the next part he had to make with nothing to hold on to. Each step was pleasant, the house before him different, unknown.

The walk, though satisfying, quickly proved to be tiring. Maedhros passed the second house and replied to the greetings of its surprised owner, but as he reached the next garden, his legs were already shaking with effort.

“May I?” he asked the elf leaning over the vegetable patches, as soon as he noticed a bench on the yard.

The Noldo glanced at him and jumped on his feet. Maedhros recognized one of his friends and companions from the times when Maglor was a little child clutching to his legs.

 “Nelyafinwe.” The elf seemed abashed as he crossed the patches.

“Vorindon,” Maedhros nodded with a smile and reached his hand to support himself, though his friend was just sweeping the ground from his hands. “May I?” he pointed at the bench, trying to ignore the fact that Vorindon used his father name instead of his epesse. And he used to call him Russandol...

“Oh, right, of course.” The elf recovered and led Maedhros through the vegetable patches. He could not take his eyes off his king, but when their eyes met, he looked away.

“Thank you.” Maedhros sat with relief next to the basket full of vegetables. He breathed deeply, glad that he managed to avoid falling. Alcarino warned him to be careful and he did not intend to be bedridden again simply because he overestimated his strength.

“How are you feeling?” asked Vorindon carefully, crouching beside him. His hand stopped for a moment at Maedhros’s, as if he wanted to make sure his guest was real.

“I am fine,” replied the eldest son of Feanor sincerely. He knew his fatigue was temporary and once he rested a bit, he would be able to go further. “I’m trying to get to Alcarino.”

“Shall I fetch him? Do you need anything?” worried Vorindon at once. “Alcarino lives there,” he pointed at the smaller house on the other side of the alley. “I can send someone...”

“There’s no need.” Maedhros shook his head. “I will just rest a bit and go, it’s nothing important. But I didn’t intend to disturb your work.”

“I am glad you came.” Vorindon relaxed a bit, a smile appeared on his lips. He went back to his vegetables and lifted a bouquet of some plants he was removing from between the carrots. “I’ll lead you to Alcarino whenever you wish, I was going to bring him those anyway. His herbs grow better in my garden than his, somehow they always end up growing here. And Alcarino complains about my dill choking his herbs. I may say the same about his weed in my carrots,” he snorted more freely.

“But otherwise he is a good neighbour?” asked Maedhros, amused, seeing that his friend was finding it difficult to normally talk to him. He had already gotten used to this; most of the Noldor he met felt awkward at first.

“Yes, of course.” Vorindon crouched and went back to cleaning the vegetable patches. “But if we live in such small space, we need to get on.”

Maedhros watched him in silence for awhile. He felt awkward without any of his brothers; awkward, but safe. Nothing could happen here.

“And how do you find living in here? In such conditions?” he asked, surprising his friend completely. “Speak freely. I... I want to know what was going on during my absence.”

“Fine... We are getting accustomed to it,” replied Vorindon carefully, but Maedhros could hear the hint of uncertainty in his voice. His host looked away, abashed, but then explode. “Forgive me I did not come earlier to see you, Nelya... Maitimo,” he dared to correct himself as he saw Maedhros look.

His mother name stung, though a moment earlier his friend’s distance hurt as well. In mouth of someone apart from his brothers and cousins, spoken with hesitation and uncertain glance if the rescued king, though a friend, would not feel offended, the name seemed more inappropriate than ever.

“Kanafinwe asked us not to come without good reason and... and don’t disturb your peace, I guess,” said Vorindon, visibly feeling an urge to explain himself. “But now I think I should have come as soon as I heard...”

“Kanafinwe can be very convincing, I know.” Maedhros cut him off. He could guess how Maglor’s order look like, though Vorindon was courteous enough to call it a request. He had seen how Maglor fretted over him so he suspected his orders were voiced so that no one would dare to disobey. That also explained why there was hardly ever someone on their yard.

“He is.”

“But tell me about our settlement.” Maedhros went back to the interesting matter. “Please.”

Vorindon obeyed. At first he spoke carefully, avoiding the times when they were founding the settlement. Maedhros didn’t push him, seeing how his friend was uncomfortable with going back to those hard days. He focused on the daily life to compare what he already knew with relation coming from someone outside his family. Vorindon confirmed his assumptions as how the daily contacts with Fingolfin’s encampment looked like. That was something Maedhros expected, but his friend drew his attention to another matter.

At the other side of the lake lived a host of elves who followed his uncle and his cousins, but this was not what Vorindon stressed. The water separated two not overly friendly settlements, but it also divided families. Along with Fingolfin came many wives, sisters and brothers of those who had sailed to the Middle-Earth with Feanor. Those families almost did not see each other, though not all the elves were reluctant to keep in touch. The other settlement tolerated only official messengers sent sometimes by Maglor, because the activity of the Enemy concerned all the Noldor, and the sons of Feanor were vigilant and more familiar with the territory. But aside from this, no one was let inside and the elves from Fingolfin’s settlement rarely came to their families on the southern coast, as not to cause unwanted tension.

Feanor’s firstborn listened carefully, pleased that his friend was getting more comfortable in his presence. He tried some vegetables and fruits from the basket, ignoring the sand gnashing in his teeth. He focused on the longing in Vorindon’s voice when he mentioned his sister. They had seen each other only twice since Fingolfin had come. They met in the forest, away from both settlements. From what Maedhros gathered, they were not a lone exception.

The sky clouded in amazing speed. Maedhros didn’t really notice it as he listened to Vorindon, before the near thunder made him shiver uncontrollably. A violent storm was coming.

“It’s time to go, I think.” Vorindon glanced up. “I would gladly bring Alcarino those herbs before they get wet.”

“Of course.” Maedhros agreed eagerly and rose on his feet. He didn’t really want to meet the storm outside; not just yet. “Lead the way.”

xxx

The storm raged outside. The rain knocked to the small window and would not stop; on the contrary, it seemed to intensify. The dark blue sky was flashed with lightening time after time; the storm had come by the lake and did not intend to leave.

 Maedhros watched it from the healer’s safe, dry house. Alcarino made him do a set of exercises, but did not insist to try something new. Instead, he took care of the herbs brought by Vorindon and chatted freely with his patient.

Knocking to the doors almost disappeared in another thunder. Alcarino rushed to open, worried what had happened that someone was looking for him in such a downpour. The eldest son of Feanor followed him with his gaze, tensed, and relaxed only when the healer returned with soaking Maglor. Maedhros put down the mint tea his host had offered him and creased his eyebrows, seeing relief on his brother’s face.

“Nelyo.” Maglor exhaled deeply and wiped away the water dripping from his hair right into his eyes. “Are you alright?” he glanced at the window.

“Yes, of course.” nodded Maedhros in astonishment, watching his brother drying his hair with the towel Alcarino gave him. “Seems it is I who should be asking,” he remarked. “Come here, Makalaure,” he ordered, putting his legs down on the floor and sitting straight. “What is wrong with you?”

Maglor glanced at Alcarino, but the healer just pushed him towards his brother, not caring that his guest was leaving puddles on the floor. The singer crouched by the bed, still anxious.

“I could not find you,” he muttered. “Nobody’s home.”

“Don’t you tell me you’re afraid of a storm,” Maedhros tried joking. “You were not so unsettled when we left for the lake with Ambarussa.”

“With Amras,” Maglor corrected him automatically. “No... but I thought that you may not like. The storm,” he clarified hesitantly.

“I don’t,” Maedhros agreed with him. Alcarino needed some time to convince him to exercise when the storm was raging outside. “But that’s not it, is it?” He inquired, remembering his brother’s expression during their breakfast. He grabbed Maglor’s shoulder and forced him to sit next to him.

“You asked yesterday...” The singer raised his head and looked him in the eye. “It’s seventh summer since the sun rose,” he choked out.

“Seventh...” Maedhros repeated numbly. Seven years since the sun rose he had spent on that cliff. And in the darkness? How many days? Hours? Seven sounded abstract and it was not all of the time of captivity, tortures and tears. A lot. Way too much.

Alcarino came closer, casting a questioning glance on one son of Feanor, then on the other. Maglor froe by his brother’s side, unsure of his reaction, and Maedhros was staring blankly at the floor. He jerked only when another lightening hit somewhere near.

“Nelyo?” Alcarino inquired softly.

“There were storms too,” replied Maedhros in an emotionless voice, fiddling with his brother’s wet sleeve. “And so there was the first sun. There, on the cliff, I saw the sunrise,” he explained.

Something must have been wrong with his comprehension, decided Maedhros, as Alcarino’s face too showed terror. Maglor still looked at him with this strange mixture of fear and wonder and his long, skilful fingers clenched in his hand. _Long. It was long, very long time, there, in captivity’,_ repeated Maedhros silently. _There._ And he was here now. ‘Here’ was safe. The storm was only outside.

“I think you will wait till the storm dies.” Alcarino was first to recover. He poured another cup of mint tea and gave it to Maglor.

Maedhros nodded and sat more comfortably. He half listened to the talk of his companions, deep in thoughts. The rain poured outside.

xxx

The melody, at first quiet, shy, shaped slowly as Maglor played. His fingers plucked the strings, the tone rising and falling. There was longing, grief and pain falling deep into heart and Maglor played as if he wanted to enchant his own soul into the music. The lament, wordless song, mixed grief and hope, pain and joy.

At first he heard nothing except from the notes his fingers created, coming directly from his heart. He was sitting on the wide windowsill in his sick brother’s room, but far enough from him to have a sense of being alone. At first he kept glancing at Maedhros, but then his music swallowed him whole. Maglor started playing, tasting his composition, then changed a few notes and repeated the sequence. Only when he finished forging the main theme of the melody and his fingers stopped pulling the strings, he realised the room was not silent.

Maedhros was weeping. He was sitting, leaning forward, with his right shoulder low, his left elbow resting on his knees. He covered his eyes with his good hand and his thin shoulders were shaking.

For a while Maglor sat frozen. It was the first time Maedhros allowed himself to show his grief so openly, to weep for all the years of captivity. So far he was irritated, impatient, but he never let his barriers down to expose himself so. Now tears were running freely down his hollow cheeks.

The eldest son of Feanor realised that Maglor stopped playing, for he raised his head. He did not wipe his tears, nor did he try to hide his emotions from his brother, but he stared intently at the harp, pinning Maglor to the windowsill. The musician took his instrument, his fingers ran swiftly on the strings. The intention was clear. _Play. Don’t come closer. Play._

And so Maglor did, torn between the call to come and comfort his brother and his order and urge to finish the song, to give his brother the space he so desperately needed.

Only when something like a painful sigh broke through the fading sobs, he finished playing and came to his brother. Maedhros did not push him away, he let him sit beside and embrace him.

“I thought I would never hear you singing again.” Contrary to what Maglor expected, Maedhros was calm and collected when he spoke. “No, don’t start again,” he stopped his younger brother with a gesture, before he had a chance to try and apologise again.

Maglor could not help it. Maedhros had told him the first time that he was trying to forget, that he did not wish to go back to that matter, but in such situations as this Maglor barely stopped himself from apologising, though he knew his words would change nothing.

“So many years...” Maedhros shook his head. He let his brother draw circles on his back, leaning to his touch.

“But it’s getting better now, Maitimo,” said Maglor. “You’re stronger, you’re home, with us,” he moved closer and carefully rested his head on his brother’s arm, as if he was the one seeking comfort from Maedhros, not the other way round. Something he desperately wished for and consequently deprived himself of, when he was responsible for everything.

“This won’t.” His elder brother tried to swing his right shoulder, the elbow moved weakly. “But there are things that can be repaired,” he added strongly and Maglor raised his head, surprised.

He expected Maedhros to calm down and go to sleep, but his brother... To say he was energetic would be too much, but there was some new determination burning in his eyes, something that seemed to be pushing him forwards. Well, even if it was a need for revenge, Maglor preferred it to apathy.

Maedhros surprised him again when he moved away and stared at him intently.

“Will you take me to the lake?”

The request itself was not surprising; since Amras had first taken his wounded brother to the lake a week earlier, Maedhros took a liking on a certain place on the shore and asked everyday to be taken there. So far Amras was the one taking him, once with Fingon when he visited, but today the day was already ending and Maglor thought Maedhros would be weary.

“Of course.”

Maglor saddled Rimpalote and they went through the settlement undisturbed. The Noldor were getting used to seeing the eldest son of Feanor. Maedhros directed his brother to his favourite spot and when they stopped, he didn’t wait for Maglor to tie the horse, but threw his shoes aside and carefully went to the water.

The singer smiled to himself, watching his brother’s more steady movements. Maedhros stood at the edge for a moment before stepping to the water, not caring tha he was wetting his trousers. The bottom was abrupt there, so after a few steps he was knee-deep in water. Maedhros faltered but managed to catch his balance before Maglor got to him.

Maedhros glanced helplessly at his brother. The singer took out his shoes and rolled up his trousers before stepping into water. He gave his brother a hand to support him and untangled his leg from the branches lying under the surface.

“Thank you.”

They came back to the edge and walked along, barely wetting their feet. The elder of the brothers didn’t let go of the younger’s hand, leaning firmly on the offered shoulder. They were silent.

“I wanted to speak with you before we are going to talk together,” said Maedhros suddenly when his brother was about to ask if they should go back.

“Shall we sit?” suggested Maglor, seeing his brother was already tired of walking.

Maedhros nodded and they went to the trees a few steps from the lake.

“So, how exactly do our contacts with Nolofinwe look like?” asked the sick elf as he leaned comfortably against a trunk. Maglor threw on his back a cloak he was carrying and sat in front of him, his legs crossed.

“They don’t look at all,” muttered the singer reluctantly. “I mean, we do not have an open war, Findekano comes here, that yesterday’s trip with Moryo was a huge step forward, but...”

“I need to know that, Kano,” stated Maedhros firmly. “I know you have not been telling me everything at once.” There was no reproach in his voice, just a plain statement.

“We didn’t want to bother you until you feel better.”

“I know, Kano.” Maedhros picked a grass-stalk and fiddled with it. “Anyway, I need to know how things look like before I decide what to do about it. It’s high time. And how I feel has nothing to do with it.”

“As you wish. Where should I begin?”

“You can start from the end.” The eldest son of Feanor smiled. “Why did you take me from there before I even woke?” He asked; just the one matter Maglor wished not to come back to. “I’ve seen you all watching my every move, I saw how tensed you were today, so what happened in our uncle’s settlement that you risked so much? Findekano wouldn’t tell me, whenever I asked about that.”

“No wonder,” sighed Maglor, but he obeyed.

He told his brother about the time spent in Fingolfin’s encampment by his bed, about the reluctance he was faced with, about that feral conversation with Turgon. Maedhros was a good listener and scarcely interrupted. Maglor couldn’t help but think that the weeks of being ill and weak had taught him to listen patiently when he was trying to keep himself entertained. Once he went through the worst, it was easier to talk about the relations between the two settlements and how much they kept in touch. Then his brother did not interrupt at all.

“Long story short, we have a problem.” Maedhros summed up. “We have a common enemy in the East, but our settlements do all they could not to keep in touch.”

“We do keep in touch when it comes to matters of safety,” objected Maglor. “But yes, in general you can say so. But it is changing, Findekano being the best proof. And if Moryo was able to offer some cooperation, perhaps our relations are getting better.”

“And we will wait for it what?” asked Maedhros sharply. “Another seven years? A decade or two? Until our Noldor forget about their families on the other side of the lake? Vorindon has told me how it is now.”

Only now did Maglor realise that Maedhros didn’t simply go for a walk, just like he probably wasn’t talking to the Noldor passing by out of courtesy and the need to get used to the normal life again. His elder brother consequently collected enough information to form an opinion about their current situation.

“Where are you getting to?” Asked the singer finally, because it was clear his brother’s inquires were leading somewhere.

For a moment Maedhros stared at him intently, judgingly. And then he explained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess what comes next :)


	19. Chapter XVIII

**Chapter XVIII**

The weather broke after the storm and the following days were rainy and moist. The temperature did not drop significantly, it was still quite warm, but in the mornings fog laid over the lake surface. Those unexpected downpours quickly proved to be burdensome, as there was still much work to do outside.

Maedhros liked rain. He was not discouraged from going outside by the drizzle  Celegorm complained it was wetting the leather he worked with. On the contrary, Maedhros eagerly went for a walk with Amras of Caranthir, or simply sat on the bench and got wet. Maglor watched him with surprise, but he did not oppose, as long as his brother informed him when he was going somewhere. Even if the rest of their brothers saw the looks the singer cast on Maedhros, they did not spare it a second thought.

They gathered together in the evening; the fire was burning in the dining room. Celegorm didn’t even try to sit by the table, he took his plate and sat by the fire to get dry. Curufin joined him soon and they engaged themselves in a quiet conversation. Amras and Caranthir accompanied Maedhros by the table, but Maglor did not touch his meal at all. He sat aside with his silver harp on his lap, occasionally plucking the strings, lost in thoughts. He watched Maedhros as he asked Caranthir about the results of his latest trade with the SIndar. Curufin added something from time to time, Amras and Celegorm joined in with information about their food supplies for winter. Maglor did not join them, just watched Maedhros, sensing his focus and increasing tension. He waited.

 “Good, so these are our plans for the coming winter,” Maedhros summed up with approval, just as Curufin went to the table to refill his goblet. “And what did you intend to do next?”

“What do you mean?” asked Celegorm, glancing away from the fire. “The same we did earlier. Send patrols, keep us safe, crop the fields in Spring,” he shrugged.

“And Nolofinwe?”

“What about him?” The hunter quirked his eyebrows. “He asked for help the first winter, we shared our supplies. Now they are doing fine.”

“It was us who offered help.” Maglor corrected hm.

Maedhros took no notice of that. He declined when Curufin wanted to refill his cup as well. He nodded thoughtfully and asked.

“And what about the Enemy. What plans have you had so far?”

“None, recently,” snorted Curufin. “We were occupied with other matters. More important.”

“We watch out not to be surprised,” opposed Celegorm. “Amras and Moryo make maps of the farther territories, you’ve seen them. Our settlement is armed and safe.”

“And we will spend the coming winter in here, I’ve heard,” Maedhros interrupted him. “And then we will make sure the enemy doesn’t come too close. And we will live in here one on the other. I don’t even want to ask how it looks like in uncle’s settlement.”

“Even more crowded,” muttered Maglor; he put his harp aside by the wall.

“Where are you getting to?” asked Curufin anxiously.

“What I intend to learn is what were you planning to do about the Enemy before I came back,” replied Maedhros. “Do not interrupt me, Curufinwe, for I am not finished. I guess your plans were short-sighted. That was good, as it allowed you to strengthen your position by the lake and gather supplies. For now we are safe in here, but if we want to start an open war, we don’t stand a chance,” he claimed powerfully. “Our army is too small to attack the Enemy’s fortress,” he reminded.

“Then here is your answer as to why we are sitting here by the lake” snorted Caranthir. “None of us want to repeat father’s mistakes,” he claimed, ignoring the reproaching look Curufin sent him.

“And have you thought about getting allies?” retorted Maedhros. “To cooperate with Nolofinwe?”

“He will not work with us,” growled Caranthir. “Neither he nor his subjects. Or Turukano,” he spat with disgust.

“So it is high time to change it,” stated Maedhros.

No one pretended any longer they were not interested. Five pair of eyes rested expectantly on the eldest son of Feanor, who looked at them and explained.

“We cannot let the reluctance of our fellow Noldor stand in our way to fulfilling the Oath. We need to make peace with our family.” Maedhros stopped, but none of his brothers interrupted him. “Especially when it was Findekano making first step by risking his life to rescue me. You did well, Moryo, offering him trading contacts. That is a sign we are willing to cooperate. That’s a start.”

“I didn’t do it for any of them,” objected Caranthir with offense.

“I care not whether you did it for Fin or for me,” Maedhros pointed out coolly. “You offered help, you gave our cousins an opportunity to gain promising trading partners. And you did not ruin Findarato in the meantime,” he mocked, but his eyes were serious. “So our folk on the other side of the lake will get measurable profits,” he underlined. “Nolofinwe personally is not as hesitant as he may seem in front of his host, or else he would not have allowed Findekano to come here. That’s good. Now it is time for his elves not to be so cross with us. Nolofinwe is sensible, he should agree. He knows as well as we do that we need to unite if we want to succeed against Moringotto.”

“And how do you intend to do that?” asked Celegorm, staring at his eldest brother with disbelief. “Nolofinwe’s Noldor will not follow you.”

“I know. And this is why I intend to give up the crown in favour of our uncle.”

Maglor expected explosion, but a thick silence fell in the room. Amras froze by Maedhros’s armchair, staring at his brother wide-eyed. Caranthir forcefully put down his goblet, trying to process what he had just heard and Celegorm jumped from his armchair by the fire.

“Explain, because I do not comprehend,” hissed Curufin coldly, staring into his eldest brother’s eyes without hesitation. He came closer to Maedhros, his arms crossed on his chest. “You intend to deny us our heritage, Nelyafinwe. Our father’s heritage for which we had left you then in captivity,” he said boldly. “Don’t say a word, Makalaure, it was our decision, not just yours,” he growled at Maglor, who went as white as a sheet. “We made unforgivable and now you want to give up power just like that? Are you going to leave the Silmarils in the hands of the Enemy as well?!

“Mind your words, Curufinwe!” Maglor warned him sharply; his fingers were clenched on the armrests, as if he was ready to push himself up.

The rest of the brothers stared in shock at Curufin and Maedhros. The eldest son of Feanor didn’t move an inch, only narrowed his eyes.

“On the contrary, brother,” he answered calmly. “The Oath drove me when I took this decision.”

“That’s profanity!”

“Do not think I have forgotten about the Oath!” Maedhros’s grey eyes shone. “Do you have the resources to reclaim our father’s jewels?” he asked more calmly. “Do you have an army capable of crushing the walls of Angband? If so, then prey show me, for I do not see our army increase in numbers for the last years.”

“This is a sick idea, Maitimo,” Celegorm joined in, only marginally calmer than his brother. He started pacing restlessly around the room, as usually when he was agitated. “To give up power? And to whom! No.” He shook his head.

“I see no other option.”

“Is it your disability that makes you give up your title?” asked Caranthir suddenly. He rose so abruptly his chair fell with  loud noise.

Maedhros didn’t even blink, just looked at him with his grey eyes. He made Maglor stay seated with a subtle gesture.

“Do you really think that bothers anyone? Any of us?” Caranthir looked at the others challengingly, leaned forwards and rested his hands on the table.

“Sit down, Morifinwe.” There was steel in Maglor’s voice, his eyes showing anger and disgust with his younger brothers’ words. Anger, but not surprise.

“You have already decided that.” Curufin narrowed his eyes furiously, staring at his two eldest brothers. “Why are we even discussing that matter? You have already decided,” he hissed. “And here I thought we have something to say in that, Makalaure.”

“Perhaps you have,” commented Amras indifferently. He said it so calmly Maedhros turned to him in surprise. “Do not look at me like that, Nelyo, I don’t expect it to change,” he shrugged. “If you want to give up your title as the king, do it. You are our leader.”

“Thank you.” Maedhros nodded and turned to the rest. “I want to hear your opinion.”

“No.”

“No.”

“No. Absolutely not.” Celegorm stopped pacing for a moment. “Kanafinwe?” he turned to the silent singer.

“Maitimo is right,” claimed Maglor. “If by giving up the crown he will win Nolofinwe’s elves back, it is worth to try.”

“Are you so sick of ruling?” Curufin attacked him. “Did you hate ruling in Maitimo’s stead so much that you will grab every opportunity not to ever face it again? Do you not want to see your brother as the High King of Noldor?!”

“I do,” retorted Maglor. “I want it with all my heart, but if Maitimo sees a chance for reconciliation, we cannot waste it.”

“No.” Curufin tightly crossed his arms on his chest. “I do not agree.”

“Let me rephrase it in a simpler way,” hissed Maedhros and the fire in his eyes made his younger brother look away, even if he glanced back a moment later. “We. Are. Too. Few.”

“We will manage without them,” snorted Caranthir. “We will find another allies if necessary.”

Maedhros rose, his thin silhouette towering over his brothers. Amras at his side jumped on his feet as well, but he remained half a step behind.

“Had you not needed allies, you would not have left me in captivity,” said the eldest son of Feanor forcefully. “I know you would have freed me if you had the means to do so. But the truth is, we are outnumbered, so let me push the matters forward.”

“No. Not this way.”

“You have just suggested that you accept my leadership, Morifinwe,” Maedhros pointed out coolly. “Or am I wrong? Perhaps you will not obey the cripple’s orders?”

“How dare you...!”

“You did promise me obedience once in a difficult moment,” recalled Maglor suddenly. He rose, as the last of the brothers. and came to Caranthir in a few long steps. “Will you deny it the eldest among us? The one that is still our king?”

Caranthir paled as if Maglor had just hit him, then red spots appeared on his cheeks. He cast a guilty glance at Maedhros and shook his head. He exhaled deeply.

“No,” he admitted quietly. “I will not go against you, Nelyafinwe,” he said. “You are our king,” he repeated after Maglor.

“Do not call me that!” growled Maedhros unexpectedly. “Do not mock me like they did. The highest of the Noldor, the King watching from afar, the ruler on the cliff,” he spat with disgust. “Too many times I have heard the title of our grandfather and father from the Enemy to bear it now spoken by you. I will not be the king Moringotto mocked, the ruler within only one encampment. The Highest King of Noldor must hold the power over all folk. I will not have such power. Under Nolofinwe’s lead it is more probable, and then we will  be able to strike the Enemy and fulfil our Oath. So what is your answer?”

“I will follow you,” replied Maglor quietly, without looking at his eldest brother.

“I accept your lead, just like I accepted Makalaure’s,” said Celegorm. “I do not like your decision, but it is yours to take as the eldest. And I do not want to hear any more nonsense about being crippled,” he stated firmly.

Maedhros nodded in thanks and looked at Curufin. They stared at each other for a moment before the smith replied.

“I will not go against you, Nelyo,” he said indifferently. “Whatever you may think, I am not foolish enough to attack the gates of Angband with just a few.”

“I am glad.” Maedhros stepped back and sat down at the chair. “You will write a letter, Makalaure,” he stated and his brothers moved, relaxed a bit. “Let’s not make our uncle decipher my scribbles,” he mocked humourlessly.

“Now?” asked Curufin sceptically. “So soon?”

“Yes, now. Bring some paper, Amras.”

Amras looked as if Maedhros was punishing him for something by sending him away, but he went obediently. He came back quickly and placed paper and ink in front of Maglor before returning to his seat by his eldest brother’s side.

“Write, Kano.” Maedhros’s hand rested for a moment on Maglor’s fingers fiddling with the quill  and the singer froze in surprise. Then he recovered and looked at his brother expectantly, keeping the quill over the paper.

None of the sons of Feanor said a word when Maedhros dictated the letter, forming his motives in plain, rational arguments. Curufin and Caranthir stood closely behind Maglor’s back, reading every sentence over his shoulder, Celegorm paced around the dining room. Amras stayed by Maedhros’s side with his fingers clenched on the armrest.

Maglor finished and gave his brother the letter to sign. Maedhros’s letters were unsure and shaking, but the hand that wrote them did not hesitate for a moment. The singer folded and sealed the letter and that was what broke the stupor of the rest.

“Done?” asked Celegorm.” Are you done with all the flattery?”

“We are,” nodded Maedhros, letting the mockery go by. “I do not keep you if you wish to go.”

“Wonderful.” Curufin pushed himself off the wall and left without looking at any of them. He slammed  the doors behind him.

Celegorm followed him and Caranthir poured himself a glass of wine. He watched grimly as Maglor turned the letter in his hands.

“You need to send it,” he snorted. “The letter won’t take itself at the other side,” he mocked.

“Right...” Maglor nodded, lost in thoughts, then made decision and rose energetically. “I will go.”

“It’s enough if you have someone do it,” remarked Maedhros softly; he was an elder brother again, the one they missed so. “You don’t need to go personally and explain anything.”

“I will go myself,” insisted the singer. He went to the window, opened it and looked outside. “It’s no longer raining.”He tried to be light, but his voice sounded strangled.

“Not alone,” objected Caranthir. He drank a few sips and left the unfinished wine on the table. “Are you coming or not?” he urged Maglor.

Te redheads were left alone. Amras did not move, but Maedhros relaxed visibly and sat more comfortably. He drank his wine and sighed in relief. He looked weary when he draw something at one of the sheets of paper on the table.

“Are you going to send me away too?” asked Amras finally, watching the shaken letters and uneven lined sketched by his brother.

“No, why would I?” Maedhros sounded surprised. “I do not wish to be alone, Ambarussa.”

Amras made no comment about being called by his mother name, smiled uncertainly and squeezed his brother’s hand. Then he glanced at the window Maglor had left open and smiled merrily.

“Shall we go out?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know how it went, this was an important scene and I'm dying to hear what you think.


	20. Chapter XIX

**Chapter XIX**

The squirrel kept glancing unsurely, but finally curiosity and the willingness to get a nut were stronger than the fear of the elf. It sniffled Amras’s patiently outstretched fingers and grabbed the food. The squirrel ran up the branch that was too thin to hold an elf and started eating, glancing from time to time at the motionless figure.

Amras sighed, watching the squirrel gnawing on the nut. He took the opportunity of the moment of silence in the woods, aware that he too was running away. His elder brothers showed their discontent in various ways, making the atmosphere impossible to bear. Maedhros was moody and irritated, also with his youngest brother, even though, or perhaps because Amras was the only one keeping him company. The suggestion was plain enough for the youngest to grasp it and disappear for some time.

At the sound of the hooves on the path Amras moved and the squirrel ran up the branch, frightened. Finally...

“Do you have an answer from uncle?” The redhead jumped in front of Maglor. Close, but not enough for his brother to reach him with his sword if he reacted nervously. He was right, because Maglor drew his sword first, then rolled his eyes on such behaviour.

“No, I didn’t wait for it. Findekano will bring it,” he replied without hiding his distaste.

“You took your time,” said the youngest of the brothers with reproach. He whistled on his horse and Rimpalote came from between the trees, but before Amras mounted, Maglor jumped off his saddle, visibly intending to talk before going back home.

“I was not aware I was supposed to hurry,” he retorted. “I was not aware I need to explain myself when I go hunting,” he pointed at two pheasants by his saddle.

“And I thought you at least would not run away,” attacked Amras. Maglor’s passive distaste unnerved him more than Curufin slamming everything around. It would be better if Maglor spat out what bothered him. “At least you... but no, run away from home, all of you, Maitimo will not even notice,” he snorted.

“Who’s running away?” Maglor creased his eyebrows. There was a silent reminder hanging in the air that Amras was usually the one running away to calm down, too far for his brothers to be at ease.

“Tyelko has taken Huan before dawn and disappeared. Curvo must have slept in the forge, if he slept at all. I have no idea where Moryo is, but he’s clearly not with you,” listed Amras. “I thought you’d be back by noon. Or that you will have an answer at least.”

“They will give us one in due time.” Maglor laughed mirthlessly and looked at his youngest brother with bitterness. “Or was I supposed to wait to hear “I told you” from Turukano? And as we are speaking about running away, why are you not at home?”

“Maitimo has gone to Alcarino,” Amras darkened. “He said he’s not coming back till evening. And he wished not to accompany him.” He still felt as if Maedhros had pushed him away when they were alone at home, aside from Celebrimbor who too had ran away to the lake, as Curufin had shut himself in the forge.

“So let him enjoy his freedom,” snorted Maglor impatiently.

“You don’t think so.” Amras crossed his arms on his chest and stood on his brother’s way as Maglor wanted to walk down the path. “I know you don’t... Or no, I do not know. Your mouth seems to say one thing, your heart the other.”

“Because my heart sees Maitimo as a king!” retorted the elder of the brothers. For a moment he looked as if he wanted to say or shout something, but he just growled. “I will not explain myself to you.”

“You don’t need to, to me,” Amras shrugged. “But talk to Maitimo what burdens your heart. You did agree with him,” he reminded Maglor and stepped away. He jumped on his saddle and rode towards the camp without looking back.

xxx

Fingolfin didn’t make them wait long. Fingon came to his cousins after three days. He would have gone earlier, but his father did not want to reply in a hurry, suspecting that his promptness and lack of reflection would repulse the sons of Feanor. _‘Repulse them more’_ , Fingon thought mirthlessly as he dismounted and crossed his eyes with Curufin standing on the doorstep of his workshop. The smith nodded  his greetings from afar and disappeared in the forge. He slammed the door so hard Fingon feared they would fall from the frame.

Celegorm went out of the stable, Amras followed. While the hunter showed similar distance to Curufin and carried on his tasks, the youngest son of Feanor came to greet him.

“Maitimo is waiting for you, come,” he stated and led his guest to the dining room, as if he didn’t know the way. Fingon was a bit surprised by this change, as he walked freely around the house the last time he was here, but Amras visibly felt obliged to accompany him.

Maedhros was sitting by the table, leaning over maps. At the sound of the doors opening he raised his head and looked at the newcomer intently.

“Ask the rest,” he ordered shortly. Amras just nodded and left them.

Fingon took a closer look on his friend. Maedhros seemed distant, different, but more focused than depressed and Fingon sighed in relief. After Maglor’s letter he expected many things and his sick cousin’s breakdown was first on his list. _‘No, no longer sick,’_ he corrected himself, because Maedhros, though still terribly thin and gaunt, was no longer the elf he had had to convince to leave his bed.

Maglor’s arrival dragged him back from his thoughts. The singer greeted him with distance and went through the room. He stood aside, away from Maedhros, with his arms tightly crossed on his chest. His whole demeanour emanated with reluctance, as if he was forced to come here. Maglor was not capable of standing motionless, his fingers drumming quick tact against his shoulder; his robe rustled softly under his fingertips.

  “What about Curufinwe and Tyelkormo?” Asked Maedhros as Amras came back to the dining room.

“They won’t come,” replied the younger redhead and he sat by the edge of the table, moving the maps as not to wrinkle the edges. “Tyelko saddled the horses and went with Curvo to see how the crops are going,” he quoted, mimicking Celegorm’s impatient tone.

“Very well,” said Maedhros and looked expectantly at their guest. “So?”

“My father is willing to accept your offer,” replied Fingon shortly.

Maglor snorted and shook his head in disbelief.

“Forgive me, cousin,” he apologised, though his tone suggested otherwise. “That was rather obvious. The question is, how and when.”

Maedhros sighed unnoticeably, but Fingon decided not to go deeper in the conflicts between the sons of Feanor.

“What are your conditions?” he asked instead, looking from one cousin to another. “What do you demand in return, Nelyafinwe?”

“Alliance.” Replied Maedhros without hesitation. ‘We have an enemy and a war to win.”

“That’s for sure,” nodded Fingon, trying to see through his friend. “This is our war. But...” he hesitated, glanced at Maglor still standing away with his arms crossed. “I have to admit you surprised my father. We expected everything but this when you came, Kanafinwe. I came...”

“To make sure this is not some kind of mockery?” Maglor finished for him. He went to the table and poured the wine. He gave one goblet to Maedhros, the other to his cousin.

Fingon thanked him and took a sip, trying to understand Maglor. Maedhros was calm and self‑assured, but his younger brother was a mystery. He treated him like a stranger, not his cousin he had renewed contacts with. Sharp words and mockery he did not try to hide contradicted the minor gestures of hospitality. This only confirmed his father’s suspicions that there were conflicts between the sons of Feanor. The question was, how much those inner problems would shadow their politics.

“Would you like to have a walk?” suggested Fingon, but Maedhros dismissed his suggestion to talk in private.

“We will talk in here,” he said firmly. “All of us, if you wish to stay,” he said to his brothers, though he was looking only at Maglor; Amras did not interrupt, just watched them.

“And the rest? Shall I wait for them as well?”

“No. They knew I would be waiting for an answer. If they prefer to hear it from me, that’s their decision.” Maedhros shrugged. “My brothers will not oppose my decisions,” he stated powerfully and Fingon winced. So much for diplomacy.

“But they are not glad,” he commented, deciding that boldness would be a better option. “Though it was you who wrote the letter, wasn’t it, Kano?”

“He wrote what I told him to,” replied Maedhros instead of Maglor, who seemed unable to answer. “All of my brothers were present, so they know what Nolofinwe got.”

Nolofinwe. Said casually, without hesitation. This too told Fingon a lot; as much as Maedhros wished to have peace between the two encampments, some things were not going to be accepted. Fingolfin’s changed name was one of them, because Fingon was not foolish enough to think that his friend had not heard the name Fingolfin had taken after Finwe’s death. Fingon said nothing; Maedhros too was his father’s son, even if he was more careful.

“Tell me, how am I supposed to be glad?” asked Maglor suddenly. “I think we can be honest, Findekano.” He came closer and stood before his cousin. “How can I be sure that your father will not want more? That he will not make Maitimo kneel?”

Fingon froze, surprised, and even Maedhros seemed not to have expected such boldness from his brother, but he recovered first.

“It is not about our uncle, it’s about the Noldor,” he reminded Maglor. “And if Nolofinwe’s host want to see the son of Feanaro on his knees to accept our remorse, they will get him,” he shrugged.

“Nelyo!” exclaimed Amras, reminding them he was still there, shaken by his brother’s indifference.

“I have knelt before the Enemy so many times that one more will not make a difference,” explained Maedhros in an emotionless voice, but he must have realised how his words might have sounded, for he corrected himself. “Especially if this time it will be an ally, not enemy.”

“Nelyo, no one will dare to expect this from you,” said Maglor carefully, just like Amras shaken by his brother’s reaction.

“I know,” Maedhros interrupted him. “Then I will do it freely, just this once. No, don’t think I have ever knelt willingly before Moringotto,” he snorted grimly and Amras at his side shivered with disgust. “But it’s not like you have any choice when the Enemy makes you.”

Silence fell, as neither the sons of Feanor nor Fingon knew how to react. Maedhros exhaled deeply and continued more calmly.

“You will tell uncle, Findekano, that I will come and give up the crown in full ceremony as soon as I’m strong enough to do so,” he claimed before Maglor had a chance to interrupt. “Don’t look at me like that, Kano, I will not be harmed,” he said softly to his brother. “This is not Nolofinwe we need to convince to work with us,” he repeated. “And we do not need just Nolofinwe.”

“Very well, Nelyo.” Maglor humbled and nodded in agreement. “But you are telling this Curufinwe once he’s back,” he added mockingly, but he relaxed a bit and sat by the table, showing his cousin a place next to him.

“What drove you, Maitimo?” asked Fingon more freely, because the atmosphere was no longer so thick.

“Aside from the obvious reason? I have a couple more,” replied Maedhros and explained what he had learned from his Noldor. Fingon found accurate the argument about the families divided by the lake and Feanor’s deeds; in their settlement too there were elves missing their relatives and willing to reunite with the rest.

 “And we need to start with our family, right,” Fingon summed up when his friend finished. “I think there is one more thing that may give you some favour, as an ally if not as a king,” he suggested.

“Yes?”

“Kano said that the burning of the ships was your father’s idea.” Fingon chose his words carefully, aware that he had to watch himself. Defaming Feanor in front of his sons was not the best idea. “He said you did not partake, that you opposed Feanaro,” he glanced at his cousin, waiting for confirmation.

“Those who followed father then, died soon after along him,” Maedhros nodded grimly. “And Kano spoke truth, I was not present in the camp. I don’t know if I would have achieved anything, even if I had come back in time. But perhaps I would have been able to check where Ambarussa were...” he admitted quietly.

 Amras closed his eyes and clenched his fingers on the edge of the table. He leaned his head, letting his hair hide his face.

“That too is something I can mention,” suggested Fingon delicately. “That you had losses too.”

“You may,” agreed Maedhros, then leaned and touched his youngest brother’s cheek; Amras jerked. “Forgive us for drawing this up, Ambarussa, but Findekano is right.”

“I asked you,” hissed Amras, escaping his brother’s hand. “I asked you, Nelyo, no to call me like that. This was not only my name. Can you respect it?”

“Why?” retorted Maedhros instantly, staring at his brother. “Why should I not use the name our mother gave both of you, when you yourself are using the name of your dead twin, Pityo?”

Amras froze, still leaning back, and Fingon wished he was far away; he was not supposed to witness this.

“You knew?” asked the youngest son of Feanor, glancing with his empty eyes from one brother to the other. “Kano?”

“Of course.”

“From the very beginning,” confirmed Maedhros. “If you wished so, we let you, but then... I don’t know what happened, but I see no one brought this matter...”

“We did not talk about in,” admitted Maglor. “We got used... That is thy I told you that Pityo died,” he said to Fingon. “There was no right place for explanations.”

“You will have to decide.” Maedhros spoke softly. “Or you may not be able to change it later. You cannot use both names. You have to decide what Findekano is going to tell in his camp,” he urged his brother.

“I know...” Amras exhaled deeply, his eyes glued to the table. “Telvo...” he said barely audibly.

“Ambarussa...”

“Telvo died on the ship.” The youngest son of Feanor repeated louder and raised his head. “Ambarussa too, Maitimo,” he stressed. “Do not call me that. Just Amras. Or... Pityo...” he added hesitantly, as if the name sounded unfamiliar.

“Very well.” Maedhros nodded and Fingon decided it was the time to stop examining maps he had been studying during their conversation. “It was an accident, Findekano. None of us intended this, our father too. He would never, ever do such a thing on purpose,” he stressed and there was a hint of warning in his grey eyes. _‘Accuse Feanor and I will not be able to rein my brothers.’_

“Of course. We will talk, we will pass those news to our elves,” nodded Fingon. “I will ask Findarato for help, though I doubt there will be any difficulties. News travel fast,” he smiled.

“Especially gossip,” Maglor snorted more cheerily. “We too will have to announce your plans, Maitimo.”

“In a few days,” confirmed Maedhros. “But it will take some time till I come. It is quite a distance,” he pointed at the lake on the map.

“Over a dozen of miles. By the way, those maps are fantastic,” said Fingon with admiration, running his fingers on the paper. “Turukano would give a lot to have such.”

“This is Amras’s work,” Maedhros praised his brother with a hint of pride. “We still miss some terrains over the mountains, but the area nearby is well known.”

“Tell Turukano he may come and copy them if he wishes,” offered Amras, content with his cousin’s praise. A ghost of a smile appeared on his face, but then he went serious and turned towards his brother. “Do you need anything from me?” he asked boldly.

“I told you I will not force any of you to accompany us,” replied Maedhros impatiently. “If you don’t wish to stay, you don’t need to.”

“If Moryo comes, I will send him to you,” said Amras and rose from the table.

Fingon followed him to the doors with his gaze and he could not shake off the feeling that Maedhros had pushed him too much with the matter of his name and that the youngest son of Feanor needed some time alone. Soon though Maedhros turned his attention to important matters they needed to go through and Fingon forgot about Amras.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deciding which of the twins died and which survived was a bit confusing when I've been reading HoME, so I decided to play a it with this.


	21. Chapter XX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas to everyone! I'm sorry I kept you waiting, but it was a busy time. I hope I can make it up for you by playing a Santa and posting another chapter today.

**Chapter XX**

Fingon didn’t stay long and when he left, Maglor stayed with Maedhros and he seemed at ease. Seeing that the singer took his harp and didn’t look like he was going to run away, Amras decided he could leave the camp without feeling guilty. He intended to ride to the nearby fields to find his brothers and convince them to stop being childish and come back home. But as soon as he took Rimpalote from the stable, he knew he had to change his plans.

Caranthir rode quickly on the yard; his horse was tired. He was leaning forward, his usually flushed face was pale, almost grey.

“Moryo!” Amras left his own horse, as soon as he noticed an arrow in his brother’s arm, and got to him in a few long steps.

“We have company,” hissed Caranthir through gritted teeth and accepted help to dismount. “Ouch!” He hissed and clutched his arm, for he moved it too much.

“You’ll tell me later. Come.” Amras placed his arm around his brother and led him home, careful not to touch the wound. “Tyelpe, fetch Alcarino!” He called to his nephew standing on the doorstep of the forge. The boy just nodded and ran to the healer; someone else took care of the horses left on the yard.

Caranthir went a bit unsteadily to the kitchen and sat heavily on a bench. Amras glanced to see if he wasn’t about to fall, then worked by the kitchen to make a fire.

“How far have you ridden?” he asked, giving his brother some wine. “Are you wounded elsewhere, or is it just your arm?”

The wounded shook his head and emptied his goblet with a few sips, then pressed it to his forehead.

“Three hours at least, perhaps a bit longer,” he replied tiredly. “They surprised me at the hills, we’ll need to send a patrol to check that place.” Then he raised his head and growled irritated. “Could. You. Take. It. Out?”

“I’d rather not. Alcarino will be here in a moment, he will know how to do that delicately,” the redhead backed off. He did not want to move the arrow, as it was stuck enough that Caranthir had not removed it himself. “Just hold on a moment longer.”

“You know how. For goodness sake, you are a hunter!”

“A dead animal doesn’t mind how I pluck out the arrow, unless I need its fur,” retorted the youngest son of Feanor, silently glad that Caranthir was up to arguing with him; it wasn’t so bad after all.

Alcarino came with Celebrimbor at his heels, who ran away from the kitchen as soon as he made sure he was no longer needed. He bumped on Maglor in the doors, who came in abruptly.

“What’s going on, Alcarino? Mai... Moryo!”

“Yes, I am glad to see you too,” growled Caranthir. “Now, can one of you remove that thing?” he repeated, offended.

“In a moment, Morifinwe,” replied the healer calmly, placing his tools on the table. “Believe me, you don’t want me to take it out just like that.”

“You are not going to drug me!” hissed Caranthir. “No way!”

“As you wish.” Alcarino just shrugged and tossed a small box to Amras. “Brew it.”

In the meantime, Maglor leaned over his brother and looked him in the eyes, then touched his forehead. Caranthir glared at him grimly, as if he wished to chew off his fingers, but he accepted his help to undress. The singer looked like he wasn’t sure if he should be worried or irritated; he said nothing.

“Drink it,” ordered Alcarino and handed a mug to the wounded. “It’s just some soothing herbs.”

Caranthir glanced at the long tools Alcarino prepared and he paled, then looked longingly at Amras, as if he still wanted his brother to remove the arrow.

“You will help me, Telvo,” said Alcarino, having seen Caranthir’s gaze. “You’ll hold your brother.”

“I do not need to be held!” objected the wounded, but he was still glancing unsurely at the tools Alcarino was about to use to remove the hooked arrow head.

“It’s Pityo, Alcarino,” Amras corrected the healer with his eyes on the floor.

“Finally,” sighed Alcarino quietly and placed his hand on his shoulder. “Hold him, please.”

The remark of the youngest son of Feanor worked better than any earlier attempts to silence the wounded. Caranthir quieted, surprised what had happened during his absence. Maglor seemed ready to scold his brother for recklessness, but the healer stopped it by asking him to help as well.

xxx

“What is this commotion?” asked Maedhros, when Maglor passed him hurriedly in the doors, carrying a fresh shirt tossed over his shoulder. He stopped at the doorstep and examined the kitchen with his keen eyes. “Moryo? What happened?” He noticed at once his brother’s grim expression and his thickly bandaged arm.

“He got an orc arrow,” explained Maglor, helping the wounded to dress.

Maedhros tensed and bit his lip in anger.

“Show me,” he demanded, walking slowly towards the bench Caranthir was sitting on.

“Alcarino has already taken care of it,” remarked Maglor, surprised, but his elder brother just rolled his eyes in irritation.

“Show me the arrow.” Maedhros took the broken arrow from the table and examined closely the end. Finally he nodded, content, and sat next to his brother, tossing the arrow back. “Alright, it seems not be poisoned.”

“How can you know that?” Caranthir showed some interest and reached subconsciously with his wounded hand take a closer look on the arrow head. He moaned and muffled a curse.

The eldest son of Feanor took the remains of the arrow and explained the differences in arrow heads. Maglor leaned over his brothers to see it too; in the meantime, Amras brought the almost complete map of the nearest terrains.

Caranthir, who was a co-author of the maps and explored the lands together with Amras, barely glanced at the sheet.

“Here,” he pointed the right place with his knife. “Those creatures must be getting more familiar with the sun, if they have come so close.”

“There were many caves in there. “Amras pointed out. “Enough spacious to hid quite a big party during the day.”

“Oh, do you remember that canyon where we met a young fox once?” asked Caranthir; Amras nodded. “The passage is hard there, the ground must have slid, so you need to watch for the hooves. Though now I think of it, I wonder if those rocks slid, or if someone helped them.”

“We’ll check it,” said Maglor shortly. “Would you lead the way, Amras? Go get ready.”

“You are going too?” Maedhros sounded surprised.

“Mmm.” Maglor nodded absent-mindedly, grabbing a piece of cake. “I need to take a look and I don’t know those hills too well. Would you send a word to Tyelko? Wonderful. Don’t expect us to come back today, Maitimo.” He busied himself around the table and took two canteens. Only at the doors did he turn to his brothers. “Are you going to be alright? If something’s wrong, Moryo, go to Alcarino.”

“Kano,” said Maedhros warningly, seeing that Caranthir was about to explode. “We’ll be fine. You’d better watch over Amras,” he added with a hint of amusement.

“Always.” Maglor laughed softly and left.

“You are a considerably less irritating brother,” Caranthir summed up once they were left alone. Only now did he lean against the wall and stared grimly at the table.

“That’s nice to hear,” Maedhros snorted, but then he took a closer look on his brother and noticed visible signs of discomfort. “But jokes aside, how is your arm?”

“What do you think?” growled Caranthir irritated and clutched his arm tighter as not to move it. “It hurts,” he complained a bit childishly.

“I know.”

“I thought it would be better once Alcarino removed the arrow,” admitted the younger of the brothers; now that they were alone, he seemed more grim. “Perhaps it was better to leave it there...”

“You know it was not,” remarked Maedhros sensibly. “Can you move your fingers? Are they not getting numb?”

“I can.” Caranthir moved his fingers ostensibly. “And nothing is numb,” he winced.

The eldest son of Feanor fought an urge to move closer and put an arm around his brother. Unlike Maglor or the twins, Caranthir was never much into displaying fondness, and he had already endured enough fussing. As for Maedhros, who recently tended to dismiss any questions about his wellbeing, a situation when the roles reversed was almost strange. But it seemed his brother didn’t mind.

“That’s good, you probably managed o avoid being poisoned.” Maedhros smiled encouragingly to his brother. “Is it the first time you got shot?”

“Yeah... After we lost you, Makalaure was overprotective. He especially tried to keep Amras out of any danger, probably worrying that he might have done something stupid, and he asked me to watch him. You know how Tyelko and Curvo always watch each other’s back.

“And who watched over Makalaure?”

“What do you think?” Caranthir glanced at his brother. “We all did, in our own ways. But it was Amras who scared us all. He was one of the elves on which Alcarino learned how to deal with the Enemy’s poisons.”

“Oh?”

“He told us nothing until he got sick. Fortunately it was nothing serious, but he was pale, sick and furious for the next few days.” The wounded shrugged and hissed. “Ouh!”

“Come, I think I may have something for that arm,” suggested Maedhros and he rose, pushing himself up before Caranthir managed to offer him help. He went slowly to his room, certain his brother would follow.

He could prepare Alcarino’s medicaments with his eyes closed, and he learned the ingredients by heart. He put some soothing mixture, but after glancing at grim Caranthir he added some sleeping draught.

“This is yours, I guess,” Maedhros smiled and took from the wardrobe the red sash Caranthir had once left him.

“Mmm.”

Together they managed to make a sling from the sash and Maedhros sent his brother back to the kitchen to get some boiling water, and he sat in his armchair. Caranthir came back soon with the hot mug. He smelled the contents and winced with disgust.

“Enjoy,” muttered Maedhros. “Come here, sit on the bed,” he offered, seeing that his brother was heading towards the table.

Caranthir glanced gloomily at him, but he sat obediently on the bed.

“This is your revenge for giving you this disgusting thing,” he said grimly and took a sip.

“This disgusting thing works quite well,” replied Maedhros calmly. “Drink.”

His brother snorted, but he obediently emptied the mug and ostensibly showed Maedhros the bottom. He put it away on the drawer and clutched his arm.

“You’d better lie down,” suggested the eldest son of Feanor, watching his brother as he was trying to find a more comfortable position. “Come on.”

“What for? I don’t want to sleep.”

“You will, soon.” Maedhros smiled. “Remove your shoes and lie down, or I will have to do it later once you’ve fallen asleep.”

“You put something in there!” realised Caranthir. “Nelyo! You were supposed to be less irritating!”

“I could have asked Alcarino to come here and prepare something for you, but if he didn’t give you anything, he must have assumed we could manage.” Maedhros shrugged. “Lie down.”

“Oh, you awful, devious...” muttered Caranthir, but he leaned forward to remove his shoes with some effort, still murmuring curses. His movements were getting softer and softer, but despite Maedhros’s fears he did not fall from the bed. He leaned against the pillows as soon as he sat up again.

“This damn thing is strong... What did you give me?”

“No worries, you won’t get a hangover from that,” promised Maedhros, watching with amusement as his younger brother was trying to fight the sleepiness.

“Kano’s going to murder me...” muttered Caranthir.

“Shhhh, no one is going to murder anyone,” his elder brother hushed him. “Sleep. If I need anything, I will ask Tyelpe,” he promised. He didn’t mention the fact that to get anything from his nephew, he would have to go to the forge. Celebrimbor was using the opportunity of having all the workshop just for himself during his father’s absence and Maedhros was not going to spoil his fun unless it was necessary.

Caranthir fell asleep a moment later. The eldest son of Feanor sat more comfortably in his armchair and took from the table  sheets of paper tightly covered with Maglor’s handwriting. The brothers had decided some time ago that learning the language of Middle-Earth elves was a good idea to pass the time, and Maedhros had eagerly taken this opportunity; it seemed right to learn the language properly, with correct spelling and accent. Right now too he focused on the foreign words, paying attention how the Noldor adapted his father’s signs to the language of Moriquendi. He glanced from at his brother time to time, checking if no redness appeared on his cheeks, suggesting that something was amiss.

The nervous atmosphere of the last few days and the conversation with Fingon had worn Maedhros more that he thought. He must have fallen asleep in the armchair, for he woke at the sound of the doors being opened. He raised his head vigilantly and checked if his brother was still sleeping.

“It’s just me” said Alcarino, as he quietly came in. “I just wanted to check if everything is alright, but I see it is.”

Maedhros nodded uncertainly and glanced at Caranthir guiltily. He was supposed to watch over him and yet he had fallen asleep while reading. His younger brother was sleeping soundly and did not move even when the healer touched his forehead and checked the blood circulation in the wounded arm.

“I gave him what you were giving me for sleep,” said Maedhros. “It worked momentarily. Too quickly,” he admitted anxiously.

“A smaller dose would have been enough for Morifinwe,” explained Alcarino. “I increased dosage for you, because it wasn’t working. But it’s alright, nothing will happen even if he sleeps till morning,” he reassured Maedhros.

Alcarino must have realised that they were alone, because he brought Maedhros some dinner before leaving. He wanted to go to Celebrimbor, but the eldest son of Feanor stopped him; there was no need.

Maedhros was alone. Dusk fell outside and only one crystal lamp was shining in the room. Feanor’s firstborn kept watching his brother, until he could not resist the urge and he sat on the bed to check if everything was alright. Caranthir was sleeping peacefully; he was safe. Maedhros was suddenly struck by realization how easily his younger brother could not be home, safe. His heart froze at the thought that the orcs could not only have wounded Caranthir, but also captured him, hurt and defenceless, and, having realised who they had caught, could have dragged him to the darkness of Angband.

The room seemed cold. Maedhros glanced at the open window and understood why his brothers tended to shut the curtains closely. He too had the need to protect his wounded, sleeping brother, even if they were in the middle of the settlement, surrounded by hundreds of Noldor. Suddenly he felt helpless and lonely. If only one of his brothers was home...

They did not come back. Maedhros realised that the day was long gone and neither Celegorm and Curufin nor Maglor and Amras returned. He thought that perhaps the attack on Caranthir was a deliberate action to lure the sons of Feanor out of their camp. That would explain why the orcs did not chase the elf to kill him or play with him in a cruel way. If Maglor fell into a trap...

Maedhros sat a moment longer by his brother, but anxiety would not let him rest. Torn between the duty to watch the wounded and the urge to act, finally he straightened the blanket covering Caranthir and left to look for his nephew.

 


	22. Chapter XXI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a great coming year :)

**Chapter XXI**

Curufin and Celegorm came long after dusk. The messenger sent by Maedhros had met them on the fields, but as they had already been quite far way, they had decided to finish their tour before returning, as Maglor and Amras had taken care of dealing with the enemy in the nearby.

Even before they reached their home, they noticed a commotion and quite a numerous scouting party forming on one of the squares. Only when they reached their yard, did they froze in surprise.

Their commander was back. That was the first thing they noticed – not their eldest brother, but their leader, the one who had managed to gather the Noldor after their father’s death. Maedhros was standing in front of the house and giving commands to Vorindon. He was wearing high riding boots and  a chainmail was visible from under his thigh-long, dark tunic with a star on the chest. He kept his maimed arm on the sling, but he seemed not to notice it, as he was gesticulating vividly with the other. Curufin blinked in surprise when he saw a sword by his brother’s right side.

 “Tyelko! Curvo!” Maedhros noticed them and he visibly calmed. He passed his friend and went to his brothers; Celebrimbor followed him like a shadow.

“What happened?” asked Celegorm shortly. “Where are you going?”

“Kano has not returned,” said Maedhros. “They went...”

“Yes, we know, we got your message,” Curufin interrupted him. “Where to?”

“I’ll show you.” Maedhros grabbed Celegorm’s shoulder and went hastily inside the house, half dragging his brother, half supporting himself.

The younger brothers followed him to the kitchen, still perplexed by his energy. Maedhros seemed to be bustling, but nervousness was visible under his apparent composure.

“Here.” The eldest son of Feanor leaned over the map. “Here’s where Moryo pointed.”

“It’s quite far away,” remarked Celegorm. “And Amras may know those grounds well, but you can’t just ride straight in there. When did they go?”

“Right after Moryo returned. It was quite late...” Maedhros hesitated visibly and placed his hand on the table.

“Tyelpe?” Curufin glanced at his son.

“About three hours before dusk.”

 “Yes, more or less then,” confirmed Alcarino in the doorstep.

“Is something wrong?” Maedhros jerked his head up at once and he straightened under the healer’s gaze. “Alcarino?”

“No, everything’s fine,” the healer reassured him. Considering how calmly he watched Maedhros’s actions, he must have been a witness to the earlier preparations, realised Curufin. He still could not comprehend seeing his weak brother in chainmail, armed.

“No wonder they haven’t come back yet.” Celegorm went back to the problem. “I would expect them around dawn.”

“You cannot be sure,” remarked Maedhros. “If they fell into a trap... I will not sit and wait.”

Celegorm and Curufin exchanged glances. It was clear that whatever Maedhros had got into his mind, he was not going to drop his plans easily. The mask of a collected commander was starting to crack; now that they were alone, his anxiety was more obvious.

“You will.” Celegorm shrugged. “What exactly were you going to do?” he snorted.

“Make sure none of my younger brothers become a toy!” retorted Maedhros sharply. “I do not know those grounds. You will guide me, Tyelko.”

“Alright, I will go, if you wish so,” Celegorm nodded shortly. “But you are staying.”

Maedhros narrowed his eyes and stared piercingly at him.

“Are you going to oppose me?” he asked coldly, reminding his brothers with this short question who was the eldest among them.

“No, Nelyo, no.” The hunter backed off. “But you are not strong enough yet to keep our pace. Stay, I will go.”

“Your brother is right, Nelyafinwe,” Alcarino joined in. “Let him do this for you.”

Maedhros hesitated, but nodded; his eyes dimmed.

“Go,” he said, defeated.

“Nelyafinwe.” Celegorm placed his hand on his heart and bowed slightly, then ruined the atmosphere and sent his brother a smile. “Worry not. I am sure Makalaure did not go armed only with his harp.”

The eldest son of Feanor muttered something, unconvinced, and leaned against Curufin’s shoulder.

“Saddle me a fresh horse, Tyelpe,” ordered Celegorm and he grabbed a piece of cake from the table. “Is everything ready, Maitimo?”

“Yes, the party is waiting only for... for you.”

Curufin assumed Maedhros would stay inside now that he had agreed to leave Celegorm in charge, but his sick brother followed him outside. He personally informed Vorindon about the change of plan and then stayed at the doorstep and waited. The smith moved close to him, seeing as his knuckles went white from gripping the doorframe. Maedhros was about to collapse, but he did not curl his shoulders nor moved until the party was gone. Only then did he turn to get inside and he would have sat down on the doorstep, had Curufin not supported him in time.

“Come.” Curufin led his brother to his room with no objections from Maedhros. “Let me,” he unfastened the belt with the sword and removed it.

Maedhros sat obediently by the table, no longer trying to hide his weariness. He took a few sips of the wine Curufin gave him and pressed the goblet to his temple.

“Tyelko was right,” he muttered quietly.

Curufin winced, hiding it behind his own goblet. He was the last one fit to comfort anyone.

“It’s too soon,” he stated. “Learn how to wield a sword in your left hand and you’ll have enough work. But first you need to be able to defend yourself,” he pointed out. “And let me make you your own chainmail instead of stealing one from Turkafinwe, alright?” he tried more lightly, but Maedhros just nodded.

“Help me take it out,” he asked with the same resignation in his voice. Then he jerked his head and stared at his brother. “What was he wearing?”

“The same thing he wore earlier,” Curufin shrugged. He removed some of his clothes first, to move more freely, then glanced at Maedhros. “Do not worry, Turko knows what he’s doing. Right, give me all that.”

Maedhros removed the sling, but when he tried to move his arms up, it was plain he would not succeed. Curufin removed his outer tunic, but to take out the chainmail, he would need at least one additional hand and his son had run away to the forge, muttering something about cleaning. Seeing his brother’s anxiety, he would gladly do the same.

“Lean forward, Nelyo.”

Maedhros cooperated as much as he could, but he would probably not have enough strength to get up. It took some time before Curufin freed him from the chainmail. The elder of the brothers sat more comfortably and closed his eyes. Caranthir did not wake despite all the noise they made. When Curufin suggested Maedhros to lie down too, he just shook his head.

“I’ll wait,” he said and agreed only to change the chair for the armchair.

 _‘It is going to be a long night,’_ sighed Curufin silently and sat by the table. He could not just go and leave his brother alone with his thoughts to wait for the rest. There was not much they could talk about, considering that had not talked at all in the last few days. And yet...

“So, what was it Findekano came to tell us?”

xxx

The sky was already beginning to brighten when they came home. Amras was a bit angry at himself, because he expected to be done sooner after what Caranthir had told him. In fact it took some time before they found the exact spot he had mentioned. The enemy had moved since then and they had to be careful to avoid any potential traps.

Anyway, their excursion was successful, they did not even get dirty. At least, Amras smiled to himself, they did not during the attack; cleaning after the encounter, if one could call that killing the orcs to the very last one, was much more time consuming and messy.

To Amras’s astonishment it was his brother who seemed the most satisfied with the possibility to grab his sword. He had been surprised that Maglor wished to go as well, but he stopped when he saw him ordering to attack and cutting the first orc a moment later. It was Maglor’s own, personal revenge for touching his brothers, realised the youngest son of Feanor as he watched his brother dirty himself along others when they were preparing the corpses to burn them. It was their first encounter with the enemy since Maedhros had returned. Maglor’s voice, so soft recently around their eldest brother, turned into steel. Amras definitely preferred his brother with harp and not sword, when he used his voice for singing, not orders.

“Pityo.” Maglor’s voice called him from his thoughts. “Go, tell Maitimo we’re back,” he ordered when they passed the gate. “We’ll be there soon.”

Amras nodded and rode through the smaller alleys to get home more quickly. They had met Celegorm on their way back. They almost missed each other as Amras intended to take different way back. After what Celegorm told him, he dreaded to think what would happen if they had not met.

He jumped from his saddle and went hurriedly inside, only to bump into his eldest brother. Maedhros made a muffled sound and took a step back. He would have fallen, but Amras caught him in time.

“Sorry.”

Maedhros was grey and unsteady, but he examined him closely. He leaned against the wall, but Amras did not remove his hand, worried that he might fall over.

“We’re all back unharmed,” the younger redhead rushed to reassure him, remembering Celegorm’s remarks. “Kano and Tyelko are right behind, they are just taking the rest off duty.”

Maedhros nodded, then he moved away, shrugging his brother’s hand with disgust.

“You stink,” he uttered, pressing his hand to his lips.

Amras moved away quickly. When they were riding, the wind made the smell of the orc blood bearable. He hurried to reassure Maedhros they were fine and he forgot to think how he was going to react to the smell.

“Maitimo’s right,” said Curufin, stepping out from the kitchen. “One could smell you on the other end of the house.”

“Yes, I understand.” Amras went to the well on the yard and Curufin placed an arm around Maedhros to drag him outside as well. The eldest of the brothers was shaking a bit and he grabbed the doorframe. _‘He’s waiting,’_ realised Amras. _‘He doesn’t believe me, he’s waiting.’_

Maglor and Celegorm came a moment later. They greeted Maedhros, Maglor jumped lightly from the saddle and only then the eldest son of Feanor was convinced they were alright.

“The well is over there.” Curufin prevented them from coming closer, seeing that Maedhros had managed to compose himself and stopped shaking.

Maglor glanced at Amras, who was already half undressed, and he nodded in understanding. Together with Celegorm they joined their youngest brother and started cleaning themselves; no one wished to wait for hot water and they were all hungry and weary.

When they were finally clean, though a bit cold too, and went to find a very early breakfast, Maedhros was already sleeping peacefully, knowing all of his brothers were home.

xxx

Caranthir woke completely stiff and lying at the edge of the bed. He hissed; sleeping on his wounded shoulder was not the best idea. He managed to turn on his back and realised why he was so uncomfortable.

Maedhros was sleeping next to him, which reminded him where and in what circumstances he had fallen asleep. His elder brother must have decided that having Caranthir sleeping in his bed did not mean he could not use it as well. Despite his height he had tried to curl, and that was why his knees were digging in Caranthir’s thigh.

Then something else struck him. The sun was glancing through the window which, considering they were in Maedhros’s room, definitely could not be a setting sun.

“Bastard,” he muttered towards his brother who made him sleep this long. No wonder he felt so weird.

He untangled himself from the blanket and realised Maedhros was sleeping with his fingers clenched on his shirt. He freed himself from his brother and rose carefully as not to wake him. The growling in his stomach reminded him that he had not eaten anything since the breakfast he had had before being attacked, so no wonder he felt a bit dizzy. But he soon forgot about his weakness once he glanced around the room.

His boots lying by the bed were nothing unusul, he had left them there the previous day, but Maedhros’s standing in the middle of the room by the chair were less obvious, and a chainmail on the back of the chair amazed him. _‘Valar, what happened here?!’_ On the table, between plates and a carafe with wine, Maedhros’s sword was lying. Said brother was sleeping deeply and did not wake even when Caranthir stumbled over a forgotten gambeson that probably belonged to Celegorm, judging by its size. The chaos was complemented by a glove tossed on the bed over Maedhros’s head.

Caranthir hissed and put his wounded arm between the buttons of his shirt; the sash his brother had given back to him was lying somewhere on the floor. The mess aside, he was hungry and his arm was bothering him when he moved. He walked between the things on the floor to the cupboard and quickly found the jar with the soothing herbs they had prepared for their eldest brother so often. He put a bit inside a mug and went to the kitchen. He passed Maglor sleeping with his doors open; nothing unusual in his case. The whole house was sleeping, but it did not stop Caranthir from making himself breakfast.

xxx

 The first thing Maedhros noticed after waking up was peace and quiet. The boots were all that was left of Caranthir and the mess around reminded him of the commotion at night. _‘They are sleeping, surely they are,’_ he thought, but he was not completely calmed. He rose, still sleepy, and went to make sure, just in case.

Already in the next room he saw that not everybody was asleep. At first he went to check on his wounded brother and found him half lying on his bed, with a bowl suggestively standing within reach.

“What’s wrong, Moryo?” he asked at once, anxious.

Caranthir must have been drifting, for he jerked when he heard his brother. He cursed and glanced at Maedhros unfriendly.

“You said I would not have hangover after your draughts,” he said with reproach. “I feel sick.”

Maedhros could see as much. He noticed also an empty mug and untouched breakfast on the table on the other side of the room.

“Have you eaten something?”

Caranthir looked darkly at him, as if the mere necessity of answering offended him.

“I feel sick, which part of that did you not understand?” he asked harshly. “And no, no, no way! You are not sleeping here with me!” he objected as soon as his brother came closer.

Unmoved, Maedhros took a loaf of bread from the plate and sat on the bed. Caranthir stared at him suspiciously and made no move to take the food.

“It will be better once you’ve eaten,” repeated Maedhros impatiently. “Or shall I go and fetch Alcarino?”

“I hate you,” stated Caranthir with offence, but he took the loaf and started eating slowly.

Maedhros watched him with content, seeing that Caranthir was more sulking than angry. He was a bit worried that his brother’s chattiness the previous day was only the result of weariness and relief that he had come back home safely, and that he would not talk to him today. It seemed, though, that those few days away from the settlement had taken away that blind fury at Maedhros’s decision. Which did not mean Caranthir would take lightly what they had agreed to with their cousin.

“Findekano came yesterday,” started the eldest son of Feanor to break the silence. “He brought an answer from Nolofinwe, we made some arrangements.”

“And?” Caranthir showed some interest. “What is it that you came up with, aside from the fact that you made Amras go back to his name? Because Nolofinwe is surely beyond himself with joy,” he snorted with disgust, fiddling with his half-eaten loaf; crumbles fell on the blanket.

Maedhros, having gotten some experience from his night talk with Curufin, recalled the conversation with Fingon. Unlike the smith, Caranthir listened without interrupting, which was unusual for him. Perhaps he still didn’t feel too well, but Maedhros shamelessly used his silence.

“So, it seems Turukano was right,” Caranthir summed up with disgust.”He dared to say in front of Kano that you will never be his king,” he explained, seeing Maedhros’s questioning look.

“Oh, this. I know, Kano mentioned that. Well, I will not,” the elder of the brothers shrugged. “I’ll spare myself dealing with all your quarrels,” he added lightly.

Caranthir just rolled his eyes and sighed resignedly, as Maedhros sat deeper on the bed and found himself enough space to curl and sleep a bit more.

xxx

The day went lazily. It was already afternoon when the sons of Feanor went to their tasks. Curufin was out rather quickly, scolding his son for some unfinished and ruined work on their way to the forge. Celebrimbor’s careful explanation that he had been interrupted was in vain. The whole mess was about some hooves, but it was enough for Curufin to get angry.

To the brothers’ amusement, Caranthir remained ostensibly cross with Maedhros for drugging him to sleep, so that he had missed all the commotion. He was feeling better, though, so no one took him seriously.

“Are you finished?” Celegorm ran into the kitchen and glanced at his eldest brother impatiently.

Maedhros was sitting by the table and eating his dinner reluctantly; he was the only one not looking for any tasks and he wondered grimly over his meal. After all the stress from the previous evening he seemed more tired than he was recently. _‘Or I might not have noticed,’_ realised Celegorm guiltily; aside from the last evening, he had hardly exchanged a few words with his brother.

“I am.” Maedhros put down his fork and glanced questioningly at him.

“Wonderful. So come, let’s go,” stated Celegorm lividly.

“Not today, Tyelko,” Maedhros sighed tiredly.

“Today.” The hunter insisted; Maedhros’s passiveness was annoying him, reminding him of that wounded look his brother had given him at night when Celegorm refused to take him along. “Come on, you can’t sit in here whole day.”

“I don’t feel up to it, Tyelko. Go, if you wish.”

“You wished so much to ride with us yesterday, so come on, let us go around here first,” insisted Celegorm, ignoring Maglor’s warning look. Maedhros needed a bit of motivation, for he seemed depressed. “I heard you are going to ride on the other side of the lake and drop on your knees before Nolofinwe, so prove to me that you have enough strength for that,” he pushed his brother a bit more.

Maedhros jerked at his brother’s words. He looked offended and surprised at the same time. Behind him, Maglor was shocked and disgusted.

“I’ll saddle the horses and wait for you outside,” stated Celegorm, looking his brother in the eye, then turned around and left without waiting for response. He stopped for a moment on the corridor and smiled to himself when he heard the chair being pushed off the table.

It took some time before Maedhros was ready. Celegorm managed to prepare the horses with no rush and he had to wait. He mentioned it when his eldest brother joined him, changed and wearing those high boots they had seen with Curufin the previous night.

“You could have gone alone if you’re in a hurry,” muttered Maedhros sourly, trying to put his arm into a sling.

 “Come on, I’m sick of riding around fields with Curufinwe, Maitimo,” said the hunter. He took the sash from Maedhros and tied it around his neck. “Allow me,” he offered, pointing at the horses.

“Will he kneel?” asked Maedhros shortly, and when Celegorm shook his head reluctantly, he passed him and whistled clearly. The stable gate opened and to Celegorm’s horror Rimpalote ran to his eldest brother.

“Seriously?” he moaned in disbelief, seeing the stallion kneeling obediently at Maedhros’s command. He suspected Maedhros did it on purpose and confirmed that when he saw the younger redhead in the stable.

“Where do you want to go?” asked Maedhros once he was up.

“Anywhere, as long as this creature behaves,” muttered Celegorm, glancing suspiciously at Rimpalote, but he jumped on his saddle and headed towards the main gate. Amras’s horse followed him obediently and the hunter was left with hope that the moody stallion would listen to his rider.

“So? What do you want to talk about?” asked Maedhros when they were alone.

Celegorm seemed surprised that his brother asked so openly.

“Curvo told me what you agreed on with Findekano,” he answered.

“And here I thought you wished you show me the winter corn,” mocked Maedhros, but then he went serious. “And?”

“He’s furious.” Celegorm shrugged. “And I don’t think he’s going to change his mind in that.”

“You have not brought me here to talk about our Atarinke either,” his eldest brother interrupted him. “And I’ve had enough time at night to talk with him about his doubts. So what is it, Turkafinwe? What bothers you?”

“It’s not right!” Celegorm exploded. “I don’t like it, I cannot agree to that! You are giving up the crown, I may swallow that... perhaps. But tribute? Kano told me yesterday... You, on your knees, in front of Nolofinwe? No. Not you, Maitimo. Not you.”

“Then who?” Maedhros snorted and looked at his brother keenly. “Who is going to apologize and try to make peace? Kanafinwe did not do that during my absence, so how it would look if he changed his mind now? You had your time, now it’s my turn.”

“Nelyo... After all that, how it will look... I don’t want anyone to think that.... that they managed too...” Celegorm stopped; this time his boldness failed him. “Anyone but you! Not in front of Nolofinwe!”

“Will it calm your conscience if I tell you that I don’t mind?” asked Maedhros coldly. “Because as I understand, Kano failed to mentioned that? And who else is going to do that? You? Or perhaps Moryo or Curvo? That would be a disaster!” he snorted at the mere thought. “Or shall I use some wicked logic and send Amras to apologize in the name of our house? That would look great indeed.”

Celegorm blushed, unable to utter a single word. His brother used his silence.

“I am not doing this to spite you. And I am not being vicious, despite what you seem to think,” he said more calmly and caressed Rimpalote’s neck, as the horse moved its ears nervously. “I don’t need to be protected, Tyelko, I will be fine. All I need from all of you is cooperation. Because otherwise I will indeed end up sending Amras in my stead and that would just tell our uncle there are conflicts among us.”

“Telvo will support you, right,” nodded Celegorm, trying to calm down. The last thing he wished was to unsettle Rimpalote away from the camp, while he was carrying his eldest brother.

“Pityo,” Maedhros corrected him. “Do try to remember that, let’s not make him correct everyone around him.”

“You made him stop this farce? By forcing him?” Celegorm stopped his horse in astonishment. “Valar, when? I was away for half a day!”

“There is a lot going on,” remarked Maedhros and he stopped as well. He explained shortly how the matter of the name had come up in the previous day’s conversation. “No, I did not force Ambarussa to anything, he made the decision.”

“Be careful how you push him,” the hunter warned him. “He will follow you, he’s trying to make up for the last years, but he is no longer the kid from the shores. Push him too much and he will oppose you.”

“I will be,” nodded Maedhros absentmindedly. “I will give him Rimpalote back too, once I’m able to ride some other horse,” he pushed the sides of his mount and rode forward.

“Amras is not the only one training horses in his free time, you know,” Celegorm reminded him. “My fault for saddling the first one available.”

“Never mind, we get on well so far.” Feanor’s firstborn caressed the horse with visible pleasure. “So, are you going to show me those fields?”

 


	23. Chapter XXII

**Chapter XXII**

Even if his brothers were still angry for his decision, they did not show it openly. Although Curufin winced every time the matter of making some plans was brought up, at least he stopped ostensibly avoiding his brother. Maedhros was relieved, even if he would not admit it openly; his expression softened and his exercises with Alcarino no longer looked like escape. The eldest son of Feanor wasted no time and discussed various details whenever he could. One after another he brought up matters that needed planning and watched his brothers’ reactions.

All of this, though, happened only among them, for Fingon was tactful enough not to come for a while and gave them time. They were also alone one evening when Maedhros surprised his brothers, using the fact that they were all present.

 “II wish to call a council,” he announced after the meal, disturbing Maglor’s humming. “Tomorrow at noon.”

“What for?” Asked Caranthir. Despite Alcarino’s advice, after a week he refused to keep his arm on  sling and was simply careful. Unlike Maedhros, still weakened, he was healing fast, so the healer let him be.

“I don’t want our Noldor be the last to learn what we are about to do,” replied Maedhros calmly. It was a miracle that they had managed to keep it a secret so far; only Alcarino knew. “Call all your closest in command. I want to see who you trusted and charged with responsibilities. We shall meet on the council tomorrow, I will get acquainted with the structures you have created and I will announce what necessary. The rest shall pass the news later, for I suspect we do not have a place large enough to gather everyone.”

“We don’t,” admitted Maglor. “I have no one to inform, apart from one or two. Tyelko passed most of our inner arrangements.”

“I’ll leave it to you. Call those you deem necessary.”

All of the brothers left aside from Amras who was sketching something in the light of crystal lamp. He seemed to have ignored his eldest brother, busy with drawing.

“I meant you too, Amras,” Maedhros reminded him calmly and the younger redhead jerked, surprised.

“Of course,” he nodded shortly and put away his pencil. “Do you wish me to ask anyone in your stead?”

“There’s no need. I’ve already informed Alcarino and Vorindon. He’s the only one alive,” the elder brother reminded him grimly. “For now I wish to learn what structures you have made before I change anything.”

Amras abandoned his work and left, leaving his quill and a few sheets of paper on the table. Maedhros took one of them and started writing his clumsy letters.

xxx

Maedhros spent most of the morning convincing himself that the worst was over, now that he no longer had to argue with his brothers, but only inform his elves about his decision. Nevertheless, it was going to be his first official meeting, if one didn’t count that unexpected dinner with Sindar and Fingon’s visit when he came to pass his father’s answer. The eldest son of Feanor did not expect much trouble, yet he was ill at ease, so he jerked when the doors opened and Curufin came inside with impatience written all over his face.

“Yes, Curufinwe?” Maedhros glanced at his brother, intrigued. He was about to ask one of his brothers to help him braid his hair, but Curufin was not the one he expected. He only hoped his brother did not come because he was having some remarks directly before the council.

“Did you check that chest when you were cleaning your wardrobe with Moryo?” The smith surprised him with his question.

“No. He claimed there were some of my smaller possessions and we decided to sort it another time.”

“I cannot find one thing,” admitted Curufin irritated. “May I?”

“Suit yourself.” Maedhros had no idea what his brother was looking for that he decided to check also among his things, but he rose slowly to use the opportunity and see what was in the chest.

Curufin opened the chest and shuddered a little when Maedhros leaned against him to sit beside him on the floor. The chest was only half filled and as far as Maedhros remembered, it contained all of his small personal belongings; his brothers must have hidden them here after his imprisonment. The smith took out a small knife, then a quill and a dried inkwell. Then he placed a small book on the floor, along with Feanor’s belt and his pins, which made Maedhros realise the chest contained all that was too painful to look at. For a moment he even mused if Curufin would take out those few belongings of their youngest brother, which had not burned along with the ships, but the smith took only a few boxes; one of them, as Maedhros recalled,  should have contained jewellery, so he took it and glanced inside, losing interest in the search. He took out a ring he had once worn quite often, but the trinket slipped from his too thin fingers.

A silver belt, another memory from Valinorean festivals, clang as Curufin put it carelessly on the floor and took a square box from the bottom.

“That’s what I was looking for,” he claimed, satisfied. “If you had told me earlier you were going to hold a council, I would have prepared you something, but there’s no time. And this is Atto’s doing...”

Maedhros stared perplexed at the silver circlet, an masterly piece of jewellery underlining his origin. So this was the reason Curufin made so much fuss...?

He must have shown his surprise, for his younger brother snorted in irritation.

“You are calling your first council since you’re back,” he explained, offended. “You may be abdicating, but not with your head bare. And let me remind you that you have not given up the crown yet.”

Maedhros did not oppose. He ran his fingers down the delicate ornaments at the side to the star of their House in the front. Despite having been kept in the box, the silver required a bit of cleaning, but it was fine otherwise. Content, Maedhros rubbed the circlet against his sling and nodded at his brother’s unspoken question.

“Will you help me?”

xxx

It could have been worse, thought Maglor when the council was over and most of the Noldor had left. It could have been much, much worse.

Maedhros was visibly at ease, knowing that he would not have to convince his brothers as well. Maglor had to admit Celegorm had met the expectations and Maedhros received a whole set of reports from the nearby grounds, even if they had discussed the matters before during supper. Since that encounter with orcs they had increased patrols to prevent such unpleasant surprises in the future. Maglor noticed with amusement that his brother was doing his best and ensured better discipline than usual. What surprised him, was the fact that Amras was responsible for the routes in the East near the hills, though it shouldn’t have; it was Celegorm who shared the duties with the youngest and Maglor usually did not interfere.

The eldest son of Feanor seemed fully satisfied despite the conditions, which, compared to Valinor, were painfully temporary. The dining room, used occasionally for larger gatherings like this, seemed too crowded, but Maglor suspected it was just his own feeling caused by his nervousness; he was subconsciously waiting for someone to point out all the things he might have neglected during his regency. After the council, however, he had to admit the rest had taken Maedhros’s revelations much better than them. There was relief on most of the faces, sometimes anxiety if the plan would work; only few looked grimly at their king, but they were a minority. During those last few years Maglor had put aside from ruling all who were left from his father’s commanders; their presence had burdened him and he had had enough brothers to give them the duties Feanor had earlier transferred on his friends, preferring to keep his sons close to him. But none of those few dared to tell Maedhros in the face that he was making a mistake.

Maglor remained alone in the dining room, putting his brother’s notes in order and trying to ignore the fact that Maedhros had left with the others, engaged deeply in conversation. He could hear them talking on the corridor, the noise of the elves departing slowly and wandering around the yard, waiting to exchange a few words with the eldest son of Feanor. Maedhros was truly back on his right place and he was retaking the leadership. He needed that, for it was one thing to learn about the daily struggle and another to actually meet with those who fulfilled his brothers’ orders. Maglor backed off and decided not to interfere when his elder brother pointed Vorindon to sit next to him and asked his brothers to mingle with their subordinates. It was his moment to get used to being the leader again, it was up to him to present his plan.

Quite some time had passed before Maedhros returned to the dining room and sat heavily in the armchair by the fire, without bothering to remove his cloak. As the colder days came, it became clear that he was not indifferent to the weather. Alcarino was perplexed at first, but then he decided that the overall damage of the body and malnourishment were to be blamed for it. He thought that aches in joints, especially of the right shoulder, would subdue once Maedhros put on some weight and rebuilt his muscles. For now it seemed that the Winter months were not going to be exactly pleasant. Maedhros tried not to notice that and usually dismissed his brothers’ inquires, so Maglor did not ask. He just added some wood to the fireplace and sat. He was hoping Maedhros would comment the whole meeting, but his brother said nothing.

xxx

As it soon turned out, the abdication ceremony required quite a lot of preparations on every step to ensure it would not end with a catastrophe. As Fingon humourlessly stated, they were walking on thin ice and it was best to spend a few days on planning than regret some misunderstanding later.

Fingon and Finrod came from the other side of the lake; the latter quickly proved useful. Aside from the fact that he was the eldest among Finarfin’s children, he also brought some cheeriness into their planning. From the sons of Feanor the two eldest took it upon themselves. Maglor was helping his brother with the issues he might not have been familiar with and some of the minor arrangements he did by himself with his cousins, discussing the results with Maedhros and making some corrections if necessary.

This evening was dedicated to deciding how to seat Maedhros’s escort by the tables to possibly avoid strains. The easiest way – namely excluding from the feast all who might have caused problems – was not an option, as it would mean excluding at least Turgon and Finrod’s sister, and this was not the point. As the result they were spending second hour sketching various options of placing the guests; every time it turned out they had skipped someone and Caranthir suddenly ended next to Angrod. The only common thing in all those versions was Maedhros sitting on Fingolfin’s right and Fingon on his left.

“Leave Tyelkormo and Irisse together, they should be pleased,” Maedhros joined in, cutting off Fingon’s lengthy deliberations about Turgon being certainly displeased with it.

 “Irisse for certain. She wanted to come with us,” agreed Fingon. “You’re right, they should not cause trouble this way.”

“You mean Tyelko won’t,” Maglor corrected him with a smile. “Which does not solve the problem of Curvo.”

“I told you, put him with Artanis,” repeated Finrod and there was friendly mockery in his eyes. “As I know them, none of them will lower themselves to being provoked, so they should not make a scene.”

“And you? With whom can you not be seated?” Fingon elbowed his golden cousin.

“Me? And since when am I the black sheep among my siblings?” Fingon feigned offence. “It doesn’t matter to me.”

“Your place is somewhere here.” Maglor circled the pen around Fingolfin and wrote his cousin’s name next to Maedhros. “And we’re done with firstborns.”

 Maedhros glanced at the paper where Maglor had just separated him from his brothers, but he said nothing. Maglor was right, they could not forget about Finarfin’s eldest son just because he wished to have one of his brothers nearby.

It was Finrod who reacted, looking him in the eye. He smiled friendly and, as Maedhros understood, tried to reach with his thought, but he met a wall; the mind of Feanor’s eldest son was closed to this kind of communication. His cousin seemed perplexed, but he just shook his head and crossed his name out on the paper to change places with Maglor.

“It won’t matter if we sit like this, right?”

“Thank you.” Maedhros bowed slightly and returned Finrod’s friendly smile.

“Very well, so Curufinwe is solved” Maglor got back to the main topic and glanced at the long list they still had to seat. “Who’s next? Do we have anyone else problematic?”

“Are you calling our family problematic?” Fingon took the carafe with wine and refilled everyone’s goblets.

“You are forgetting yourself, Makalaure,” Maedhros feigned scolding.

“I meant it’s an understatement,” Fingon clarified. “Do you think Lalwen between Angarato and Morifinwe will be enough?”

 Maedhros let his brother lead the conversation and seat the rest of their family by the main table, one of the few planned for the celebration. It seemed they had finally come to a version that did not threaten them with a possibility of a scandal. Those arrangements were wearing him, but he could not just leave their cousins and go to rest without suggesting at the same time that he was tired. But the truth was that after a long day even in the armchair he was not comfortable and the Autumn weather was making him miserable.

“One table done,” Fingon sighed with relief, ostensibly putting away the sheet with final version. “Which next?”

Maglor glanced at his elder brother and noticed his discomfort. Unlike his cousins sitting on the opposite side of the table, he could see that from some time Maedhros was discreetly trying to massage his right elbow.

“Let’s leave it till morning,” he suggested. “It will go more smoothly. Right now I would suggest supper, Tyelkormo has come back from hunt today and he promised some roasted meat.”

“You go.” Maedhros was grateful for his brother’s perceptivity, which gave him the possibility to go and get some rest. “I’m not hungry.”

“Are you staying here, Maitimo? Do you want me to bring you something?”

“No, thank you. Send Amras if you see him. I need to tell him few things,” asked Maedhros. They had decided Amras would be his shadow on the ceremony, in case he needed anything.

Maglor nodded and invited their cousins for the meal, leaving Maedhros alone. The eldest son of Feanor waited for a while, but when Amras did not come, he went back to his room to lie down.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there's not much going on, but I'd love to hear from you.


	24. Chapter XXIII

**Chapter XXIII**

“Who has taken Flower?” Amras went energetically into Maglor’s room.

“What? Maitimo, probably,” replied the singer absentmindedly, focused on the verses of his song. He didn’t even raise his head from above the paper.

“Let me rephrase that. Who has gone somewhere with Maitimo?”

This time he caught Maglor’s attention, who put his quill away so abruptly that the ink stained the paper.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I cannot find Nelyo anywhere and Rimpalote is not in the stable,” explained Amras impatiently. “Tyelko is in the forge, they were to hobnail some horses with Curvo,” he added before Maglor asked about the brother who left the settlement with Maedhros most often.

“Moryo?” Maglor asked with faint hope as he rose from behind his desk.

“In his room.” Amras left no room for hopes. “I thought Maitimo has told you at least where he was going. And with whom.” He couldn’t exactly hide his bitterness. Maedhros was still using Rimpalote, though Celegorm had suggested him  another horse, but he always informed Amras.

Despite Maedhros’s absence at home being obvious, Maglor glanced into his room when they passed it. Amras followed him, impatient, but he was beginning to share the singer’s unsettlement.

“He has not saddled the horse himself,” he muttered irritated. “And Tyelko stays away from Flower if he can.”

 “Are you looking for Rimpalote?” Celebrimbor peeked from the kitchen, visibly surprised to see his youngest uncle. “Maitimo asked me to saddle him, I assumed he was going somewhere with you.”

“When, Tyelpe?” asked Maglor sharply. Amras elbowed him disapprovingly.

“Some time ago. An hour, perhaps more,” admitted the boy. “Maitimo said nothing, he just wanted me to prepare Rimpalote. I thought he was going to join one of you.”

“Never mind.” Maglor dismissed him. “Check the lake, Pityo. Tyelpe, go tell your father.”

“Have you tried to call him?” asked Amras quietly when their nephew left. “He’s silent for me.”

 “Nelyo will not answer you this way.” Maglor shook his head grimly. “I think he’s unable to trust so, even us. But no, I have not asked him about that,” he added and pointed at the door. “Go, I’ll check nearby.”

xxx

Half an hour later it was plain for the sons of Feanor that their eldest brother was not by the lake, nor was he in any of the nearest houses he sometimes visited. Vorindon, discreetly asked, declined knowing about Maedhros planning to leave the settlement. There was a chance their lost brother had gone to visit someone else, but to prove that, they would have to alarm the entire settlement and admit to their Noldor they had lost their commander. Maglor did not wish to make such fuss just yet, but he was more and more willing to check house after house  and send Celegorm and Amras outside the protective wall. So when one of the gate guards came and told him that lord Nelyafinwe was approaching the camp, the brothers looked at each other in astonishment. Celegorm reached his brothers with thought and then they remained with Curufin by the forge, waiting. Caranthir joined them soon enough; he wasn’t even trying to hide his irritation.

Maedhros rode calmly on the yard, covered with cloak that was damp with the Autumn mist. He looked tired yet satisfied, at least until he dismounted and noticed his brothers waiting for him with ostensible disapproval.  He left the sword by the saddle, but before he had a chance to speak, Celegorm exploded.

“Have you gone mad, Nelyo?!”

“I sincerely hope I have not,” replied Maedhros seriously; any other time his tone would have silenced  Celegorm, but he was far too agitated now.

“Alone outside the camp?” Caranthir joined in. “No weapons, no guards, no word for us? We didn’t even know where you were!”

“And that precisely was my intention,” hissed Maedhros angrily. “You cannot control my every step forever, and I don’t think your scouts, Tyelko, are so blind and careless that I was in any danger a few hundred steps away from our camp,” he pointed viciously.

Celegorm silenced, indignant. Amras ran into the yard as the last of the brothers, but his arrival went almost unnoticed, as the others were already busy with the conversation turning into an argument.

“Of course it is safe around.” The youngest of the brothers reminded them about his presence, snorting with offense.

“How dare you doubt it?” Celegorm regained his voice. “We are vigilant. Do you intend to accuse me of incompetence?”

Rimpalote snorted, nervously stamping about. Maedhros paid no attention to him, focused on Celegorm.

“No, it is you who suggest it, reproaching me for...”

Caranthir didn’t let him finish. He grabbed his eldest brother by the waist and dragged him back, away from the nervous horse, as Maedhros no longer held the reins. They made one step back, second, Maedhros did not oppose.

Next moment his elbow hit Caranthir hard in the stomach, so that the elf instinctively loosened his grip. Maedhros whirled from his grasp and before the younger of the brothers had a chance to react, he was shoved on the wall. Maedhros’s maimed arm pinned him to it and the next thing he knew was a dagger right before his eyes.

“Nelyo!”

Maedhros froze, as did Caranthir, and Maglor was already approaching them. It was impossible to ignore his voice, the eldest son of Feanor took a step back and lowered his hand with the knife, panting; his bony fingers went white, clenched on the grip. Caranthir stared.

“Nelyo, the knife.” Maglor reached his hand expectantly, watching Maedhros warily, but did not repeat his brothers mistake and did not try to retrieve the weapon forcefully.

“Never. Ever. Do. That. Again.” hissed Maedhros to Caranthir. He ignored the singer and put the knife back behind his belt.

Unexpectedly, Caranthir laughed, pleased. Keeping in mind that his actions should be plain, he reached his hands and embraced his brother shortly. Maedhros stiffened, tense and distrustful, but allowed to be hugged.

“Wonderful, Maitimo! Excellent!”

The eldest son of Feanor eyed him suspiciously, as if he was trying to determine if his words were sincere, or if he was just trying to cover his fright. He stepped back from Caranthir’s outreached arms and only then did Rimpalote’s snorting make him realise the intentions of his brother; Amras was holding his horse tight.

“What were you doing, Nelyo?” inquired Curufin calmly, returning to the initial topic. “Do not be surprised we react this way.” He approached the horse, now calm, and his brows went high as he noticed the hilt with the sword by the saddle. “Would you care to explain?”

“What is there to explain?” asked Maedhros sharply. “We do not have a crown to offer Nolofinwe, but with kingship our uncle is also taking the lead of our forces, meaning I am going to pledge our aid. And I wish not to embarrass myself in front of everyone,” he added coolly.

 Curufin looked for a moment as if he was going to explode, but he composed himself and only narrowed his eyes with visible offense.

“So, you are going to offer this sword to Nolofinwe?” he asked smoothly. “Now, that is truly going to be a promise of aid and submission. With one hand,” he snorted unpleasantly as if he purposely wanted to hurt his brother with his words. “The other will do as it pleases.”

“Mind your words!” exclaimed Amras, indignant, watching his elder brothers.

“What you’re suggesting is treason, Curufinwe.” Maedhros reminded him icily. “Be careful.”

“No, it is just a suggestion how it is going to look like if you offer Nolofinwe one-handed sword,” shrugged Curufin. “But seriously? Nolofinwe will never be my direct commander. I will accept orders from you, brother. Never from him.”

“With a bit of luck you will not have to deal with Nolofinwe personally, Curufinwe,” replied Maedhros. “But perhaps you are right, we do not wish for any misunderstandings.” A studious smile, a perfect copy of Curufin’s, curled his lips. “Prepare a sword for Nolofinwe, then. Two-handed. One that will stay witness to our abilities and craftsmanship,” he stressed out.

Curufin swallowed this turn without batting an eyelid. He nodded and asked.

“Do you have any particular requirements?”

“I’ll leave it to you, brother. I know nothing can match your craftsmanship,” replied Maedhros. It was plain for everybody that he had cut any possible ways for the smith to show his displeasure. Curufin could do nothing but present his best abilities, with no mockery.

xxx

“It seems we will be ready in five-six days,” said Maedhros with content, playing with the buckle from the belt Celegorm was finishing.

In the last days they made it a habit to meet every evening by the table to discuss all the decisions the eldest brothers had made with their cousins. Also, the rainy weather forced them to move indoors with most of the tasks, aside from Curufin, who was finishing the sword in his forge. Today also Alcarino was present, as Maedhros had asked him to stay after his exercises.

“So soon?” asked Celegorm sceptically, stopping his work. “It is quite far away.”

“It’s high time, Tyelko.”

“Are you sure? The weather is awful and such journey my end up in riding for hours in rain,” remarked the hunter.

“Does that bother you?” Maedhros smiled mockingly to his brother.

“I don’t mind, but you have not been indifferent to the rain recently,” Celegorm pointed out bluntly, “Am I right?”

“I am not going to wait till Spring.”

Celegorm’s expression suggested that was exactly what he was hoping for.

“I would rather you were fit again first,” he insisted. “We have not ridden far yet, so who knows how you are going to react to longer ride? You don’t wish to fall to Nolofinwe’s feet out of exhaustion, do you?”

“We intend to stop for the night and go officially the next morning,” Maedhros reminded him. “Going straight after the ride would be pointless indeed.”

“Alcarino, what do you think of that?” Celegorm turned to the healer, knowing his brother would not oppose him.

“I have no objections,” the asked elf just shrugged. “I am coming with you, so I’ll be within reach, should I be needed. As for the ride itself, i don’t think it should harm you, Nelyafinwe. You have my approval as long as you promise to tell me if there is something wrong,” he gave his condition.

“Any other doubts, Tyelko?” Maedhros turned to his brother, nodding to the healer.

“What about your arm?” The hunter was not going to give up easily. “What are you going to do with sling?” Right now Maedhros had his maimed arm lying freely on his lap, but he still kept it supported and immobilized most of the time, aside from exercises.

This time the eldest of the brothers hesitated. He put the buckle away and crossed his arms tightly on his chest, without realising the gesture.

“I think you can keep it, Nelyo,” remarked Alcarino kindly. “The whole ceremony is going to be tiring, so there is no need for you to strain your arm if you think it is too soon.” With that, he sent Celegorm a glance that effectively silenced him.

“I guess you’re right.” Maedhros relaxed visibly, though he was more worried about subconsciously using his maimed arm than about straining it. “Kano, you’ll send messengers first thing in the morning,” he ordered Maglor, closing the issue.

xxx

The last few days were full of preparations to the trip. The sons of Feanor became impatient and easier than usually to anger, so there were arguments over even the smallest details. It had taken Maedhros two days to decide with Celegorm who was going to assist them. Maglor worried that they had overlooked something and to repair that, he was trying to control everything and failed at doing so. which only left him more frustrated. Caranthir made a huge row about the robes, because he deemed the ones Maedhros had chosen not elegant enough and not fitting. As a result, he forced his brother to change the attire. Maedhros let him, because at least one of his hot-headed brothers calmed and busied himself with adjusting the silk robe.

With Curufin, Maedhros almost lost it. As instructed, the smith presented the sword made for the king. There was no flaw in the blade, he did his best, but the ornaments left no place for doubts who was the author. At Maedhros’s hissed remark that he could have done them a bit less ostensible, Curufin just smiled mockingly and shrugged.

“It is the House of Feanaro pledging. It’s best for Nolofinwe to remember to whom he owes the crown,” he reminded scornfully and went out, leaving the sword on the table before Maedhros.

In all this mess deciding with Amras which horses they were going to take as a gift for the king was almost pleasant. Or it would have been, had Amras not allowed himself to show his reluctance to give away any of his favourites. But there was no need to explain him the reasons why this gift was so important as a part of compensate of the losses they had suffered on Helcaraxe and for that Maedhros was grateful.

So when the day of the journey came and the elves formed a neat escort by the gate, the eldest son of Feanor allowed himself to sigh in relief. Leaving the camp definitely narrowed the reasons of potential rows and complaints.

Soon it came out it was just his wishful thinking.

“I still claim we should have come in greater number,” stated Celegorm, though they had already left the gate and the settlement vanished behind the trees.

“It is an abdication ceremony, not a power display form our part,” Maedhros reminded him coolly; he might have been sitting comfortably in the saddle, but he could not hide his tenseness from his brothers and the fact that this ride cost him more than he was willing to admit.

“It’s not about power, it’s about safety,” insisted Celegorm, mostly because this way he could show his frustration. “Yours especially.”

“It’s not like we’re unarmed.” Maedhros looked at his brothers’ weapons.

In this one matter he had failed, as they had all objected against going unarmed. When even Amras had stared in disbelief at his eldest brother, Maedhros surrendered and only reduced his escort to the necessary minimum. It was enough, though, for some of his brothers to find yet another safe thing to complain about.

“It may be dangerous around here,” Caranthir had to mention his recent accident.

“Findekano reassured me the way is checked and his scouts are patrolling around.

“I would prefer if it were my scouts. Ours.” Celegorm corrected himself as Amras snorted in offense at Maedhros’s side. “But alright, let’s say they would do too.”

The eldest son of Feanor did not intend to continue this discussion. It was him who insisted that Celegorm stop his scouts. There was no point in risking that two parties would meet and cause unnecessary tension when they all wished for good atmosphere. It seemed, though, that Celegorm, but also Amras had taken it personally, as if it wasn’t about diplomacy, but about their scouts’ skills. But as Celegorm did not hesitate to verbalise his discontent, Amras just swallowed it silently.

xxx

They made a camp in sensible distance from Fingolfin’s settlement; close enough to see the lights, but far enough so their guards would not meet accidentally. The evening was cool, but dry. Fires were made and dinner prepared. Many Noldor glanced at the buildings that could be seen behind the trees. The atmosphere was a bit nervous, but mostly impatience and anticipation could be sensed. Most of the elves were sitting around the fires and discussing.

Maglor wandered between them, but at some point he had finished talking and looked around. He passed the elves carrying additional wood to thefire  and crouched by his brothers.

“Where is Maitimo?” he inquired quietly when he realised his eldest brother was not partaking in the discussion. “Pityo?” he asked the youngest as he usually kept close to Maedhros.

“I don’t know... He has gone earlier with Alcarino.”

Maglor silenced the worry creeping every time he lost his brother from his sight. The journey proved to be quite trying for Maedhros, so perhaps he had gone for some help to the healer... But no, Alcarino was sitting by the near fire and he was engaged in conversation with a few Noldor; the eldest son of Feanor was certainly not among them. Maglor glanced at the horses, but Amras’s mount was among them.

 “Curvo, Moryo, wait here,” he ordered. “here’s no need to make a fuss,” he decided, remembering his brother’s reaction. “Come on, Tyelko, he can’t have gone far.”

“Whatever you wish, but you do realise you are making a fuss?” Caranthir pointed out. “Maitimo won’t get lost. And he has not gone to our dearest cousins, as Amras’s beast is standing there and browsing.”

“He’s not a beast!” exclaimed Amras and sent his brother a reproaching look.

“Anyway...” Maglor just rolled his eyes and dropped the discussion.

The two brothers went through their camp and headed towards the water, suspecting it was the most likely place Maedhros had gone to. They parted at the shore to check nearby. There was no possibility Maedhros had gone far, he had little strength after the ride.

The singer was not mistaken. He didn’t make a hundred steps when he noticed his brother sitting on the ground.

“I was wondering when one of you would come and seek me,” said Maedhros as Maglor joined him. “Sooner than I thought.”

“What are you doing here?” The singer sighed and sat beside his brother, trying not to show his relief.

“I wished to think in peace, because it is impossible to do so with you around. And if I hear one more thing about tomorrow, I will go and deal with it alone, even now,” replied Maedhros tiredly. “Nothing has changed since yesterday and I don’t think our uncle is going to change your planning with Finn just to spite you.”

“So why don’t you at least stick to the plan and get some rest before tomorrow?” Maglor smiled.

Embarrassment showed on Maedhros’s face. He rubbed his eyes and sighed quietly.

“I can’t get up,” he admitted.

“But you are willing to go back with me to the fire? Before the rest lose their patience?” asked Maglor, stopping himself from asking how Maedhros is going to kneel the next day.

“In a moment.” His elder brother stared at the lake.

“It draws you. The water,” remarked Maglor after a while. “Doesn’t it? Since the first time Amras has taken you to the lake.”

“I feel safe,” replied Maedhros, deep in thoughts, and when the singer though he wasn’t going to add anything, he continued. “They never used water,” he said monotonously without looking at his brother. “Never drowned, or used boiling water, never...” he stopped, then shook his head and wrapped the cloak tightly around himself. “Water is Ulmo’s domain and even there, in the depths of Angband, The Enemy respects him. Water is good. Pure.”

“Unless it’s the sea boiling with Osse’s rage,” muttered Maglor, not really knowing what to say. “Come, Maitimo,” he suggested again, seeing his brother shivering in evening cold.

Maedhros rose with his brother’s help and grasped his arm for a moment, as if he was dizzy, but then he removed his hand and firmly went to the camp, without looking back at Maglor. He stopped by the fire, but just nodded at Amras and together they disappeared in the tent.               

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo, the grand finale is coming.... Took me half a year to write it, but don't worry, I will not keep you waiting this long.


	25. Chapter XXIV

**Chapter XXIV**

The noon was coming. The day was typical for Autumn, cloudy, yet fortunately dry, but no one really cared about the weather. When they were planning the ceremony, it was safer to assume it would be raining, A month earlier and they would have brought the tables outside, but now they had to empty one of the storage houses to have the feast indoors. Theoretically, they could have built a new pavilion, had it not been for the lack of space in the settlement and the lack of seasoned timber. The storage, freshly limed and decorated, would have to suffice.

Fingon and Finrod waited by the gates to greet the guests. Their cousins came with their banners and a small, but orderly escort. The star of the House of Feanor flew proudly above their heads. The incoming Noldor were dressed elegantly; many of them bore the star of Feanor on their tunics or cloaks, but none of them lacked sword, aside from Alcarino. Fingon raised his eyebrows at how ostensibly close the younger brothers kept to the eldest. Their gazes were proud and defiant, but their postures scram of distrust towards their family. The eldest son of Fingolfin glanced questioningly at Maedhros, but his friend acted as if he didn’t notice it. He stopped briefly to greet his cousins, then followed them into the settlement, leaving his brothers no place for discussion.

They rode in silence up to the place where the main ceremony was about to begin. Maedhros dismounted graciously and briefly adjusted his cloak. Unlike his younger brothers, clad in dark blue, black and dark green, the eldest son of Feanor was wearing scarlet, accented with black and gold. He seemed to be burning and Fingon had to admit his cousins knew what they were doing, if the silence that met their appearance was any indicator.

The guests dismounted and there was little commotion concerning leading the horses away from the place. Fingolfin’s elves took the mounts, regarding them with interest, especially those bred from Valinorean and Middle-Earth horses.

Maedhros made huge impression on everybody, decided Fingon as he glanced at his brother. He noticed his astonishment, as well as Maglor’s proud gaze. So when in response Turgon left their father and sister and approached them, Fingon was mentally ready for the first disaster.

“Turukano,” Maedhros greeted him pleasantly before anyone had a chance to say something.

 “Nelyafinwe.” For a moment Turgon stared at his older cousin, but then he smiled suddenly and bowed. “I am glad I was wrong.” Although he spoke to Maedhros, he glanced at his younger brother.

Now it was Maglor’s turn to be surprised, as he, like Fingon, expected a catastrophe. He composed himself quickly and the eldest son of Fingolfin sighed in relief as Turgon did not intend to make trouble from the very start. He smiled to himself; it was a strange experience to see someone towering over his younger brother again. If only Arakano was here as well...

His smile disappeared. For a moment Fingon saw only his fallen brother, the way he had seen him last; drowned in his own blood after his daring attack that bought them victory. Arakano should have been here today. Arakano, Ambarussa and all those who had not survived the way through Helcaraxe.

“Findekano?” Turgon’s voice called him back and Fingon felt his cousins’ intrigued glances. He shook his head and smiled.

“It gladdens our hearts, every victory over the Enemy who has taken our brother and so many others,” he replied officially, but from the depth of his heart. Maedhros standing among them was a living proof that the spirit of Noldor could not be broken.

“We all miss someone,” admitted Maedhros and he subconsciously glanced over his shoulder at Amras, who went to lead Rimpalote from the crowd. “And that is why we are here today; to face our enemy together.” Fingon couldn’t help the feeling that this last remark was meant as a reminder for the younger sons of Feanor.

“Together we stand a better chance,” he admitted. Proud stares of his cousins was all the answer he got.

Finrod disappeared somewhere among the elves and next time Fingon noticed him he was standing beside his siblings. Amras came back and stood between Curufin and Maglor. Maedhros glanced back and, noticing that his escort had gathered again into an orderly squad, he spoke firmly.

“Go back to your father, Findekano.”

The bustle quieted. Fingon and Turgon took their places at Fingolfin’s side and for a moment the two groups stood facing each other. Two camps, divided by so many grudges; suspicions and rashness from one part, grief and resentment from the other. Colourful emblems flew above Fingolfin and his children and the children of Finarfin; they opposed the emblems with Feanorian star. ‘ _No, not opposed_ ,’ Fingon corrected himself silently, angry at himself that he still subconsciously regarded it that way. Not opposed. They were one family and they remained so, just like there was one Enemy who still shadowed their hearts.

And in all of this, between the two branches of the House of Finwe, was Maedhros; one step away from uniting them again or causing a storm that would end in nothing but death. He stepped forward, stopped in front of his brothers, tall, upright, then he dropped on one knee and spoke, surprising many with the power of his voice.

“I, Nelyafinwe Maitimo, the eldest son of Curufinwe Fёanaro, in presence of all gathered today, hereby renounce the title of the High King of Noldor in favor of Nolofinwe Arakano, the eldest descendant of Finwe in Middle-Earth. I declare also that neither I, nor any of my brothers and their heirs would ever claim the title that was our birthright. I pledge my weapon and accept you as the High King.” With those words, he drew the sword and gave it to his uncle. “May our swords turn together towards our common enemy, may your leadership bring us victory.”

Fingon watched as his father bowed his head and took the weapon. Next moment Fingolfin grabbed Maedhros by the arms and helped him up; a gesture of acceptance, but also a practical one. Fingon was amazed how well his cousin was coping after the long journey, during his first public appearance after the long weeks of convalescence among his brothers and friends, in peace and quiet. Had he not visited and not known Maedhros’s daily struggles, he would have been fooled today.

Fingolfin didn’t speak long. As Maedhros hardly said anything, he spoke of reuniting the two houses that originated from one, and about seeing Feanor’s deeds as amended. He also accepted the title of the High King of Noldor and fortunately he didn’t dare to say that he would see Feanor’s sons as his own, just like he unofficially regarded the children of Finarfin. No matter how this whole ceremony was humbling to the sons of Feanor, none of them would have suffered such concept, even the eldest.

“In the Light of the Trees we lived and dwelled until the Darkness tore us apart. But today is new day and the light coming from the Trees brightens our paths once again. We come from one House and we are one folk, so let us forget about feud and grudges, for our quarrels only please the Enemy. In the name of those who have fallen, we have a common enemy to fight. Let us feast tonight, bring back friendships long forgotten and unite families,” finished Fingolfin.

The elves mingled. The escort of the sons of Feanor glanced around, looking for familiar faces. Fingon could see the similar interest among their elves and he hoped it was a good start. Many eyes fell on the eldest son of Feanor and followed his every move; many of them had seen Maedhros during Summer, and he had been close to living corpse then. Right now Maedhros was far from being dead and his scarlet silhouette was hard to miss.

Fingolfin led the guests to the building where the feast was prepared. Fingon saw Celegorm leaning over to Curufin to share a comment, but whatever they talked about, it remained between just the two of them.

The decorations inside were modest, as they had limited possibilities, but the storage was clean and the tables were set in squares on at the free space. The farthest away from the entrance was meant for their House, the representatives of the host of Fingolfin and the escort of the sons of Feanor were to be seated by the other tables. While the first one was carefully planned as to who would sit next to whom, the rest could sit how they pleased. Fingon watched closely if that would cause any troubles, but both groups were aware how important it was to renew the cooperation; those present here today had been chosen carefully.

Hot dishes were served as soon as they sat. Both guests and hosts reached eagerly for aromatic meat and fresh bread. The silence, at first thick and uncomfortable, was soon broken by the murmurs of conversations, at first quiet and careful, but also occasional bursts of laughter. Someone said something, someone responded with a witty remark and the stiff, official mood was broken.

Fingon observed his family and felt surreal seeing them all by one table. The last time they met like that... he realised he had no idea what was it they had celebrated with Finwe. But it had been so different then, he remembered a group of younger and older children, impatiently waiting when they would be allowed to go and play. He, along with Maedhros and Maglor, or Nerdanel and Indis would check later from time to time if the playing had not evolved into an argument. Paradoxically, he had the same feeling now, though there were only adults around him, aside from Idril at her father’s side and young Celebrimbor.

He glanced at Maedhros, curious if he too had similar feelings, but his friend was engaged in a pleasant chat with Fingolfin. He did not touch his plate, though Maglor took care to offer him several dishes. The singer took part in that loose conversation, but just like Fingon, he watched their family. The eldest son of Fingolfin realised that this cousin shared his feelings; Maedhros behaved as if all the tension did not concern him, as if they had not been wondering a few days earlier what might go wrong.

To their right, Finrod was surprisingly silent, adding only a few words now and then. Apparently his attempt to hold a conversation with Caranthir must have failed.

The other corner of the table was definitely interesting and after the first glance Fingon silently congratulated Finrod his idea. Curufin and Galadriel took the seats on the corner, which provided excellent ground for conversation. The latter was sitting stiffly, proud and unreachable, but her eyes sent thunders to her brother and cousins responsible for the whole arrangement as she replied Curufin politely. Unlike her, their cousin seemed at ease and he bore ostensible mask as if he was the host here, but he did not forget his manners. As Fingon noticed with amusement, his son was staring dumbstruck at Galadriel, totally unaware of the silent duel.

The other visibly displeased person was Turgon, who despised the fact that Aredhel was chatting with Celegorm and allowed little Idril to join them. He didn’t forbid his daughter to talk, though, knowing that otherwise she would soon be bored. Fingon decided they had made the right choice in that matter. Finrod’s youngest siblings seemed to get on well with Amras, so there was no trouble so far.

Fingon turned his attention back to his father, intending to join the conversation which went to the dull and safe topic of the weather in Middle-Earth, at least in the grounds they inhabited. Fingolfin was just talking about the rain that bothered them last year much more than this year’s Autumn. It was hard to find more general topic.

Or not.

“I don’t know what the last Autumn looked like,” said Maedhros indifferently, cutting something on his plate with a fork. “It was always cold and windy there, though the sun was shining. But what time of year it was...” he dropped the thought and calmly tried his meal.

Fingon could see that his father froze with his own fork half way to his mouth, when he realised what his nephew had said. Fingolfin had not had the opportunity to get used to Maedhros’s remarks, thrown sometimes emotionlessly in least expected moments.

Maglor was the first one to react, glancing into his brother’s goblet and refilling it with wine. Maedhros followed his hands with his gaze, but then he must have noticed the silence that fell after his words. He looked openly at his uncle, still quite shaken, and a mask of mocking smile appeared on his lips.

“But the weather our Enemy has does not interest us today,” he commented freely, trying to break the heavy silence. “Not today. You were saying...?”

Fingon eagerly stepped in, giving his father a moment to recollect his thoughts. He mentioned the problems the lake had caused when the level of the water had risen, Maglor joined in and corrected him in something. Before they could notice, the incident was forgotten and the conversation went on smoothly.

xxx

The tables did not oblige anyone to sit stiffly. After the main court some of the elves spread. From the sons of Feanor Celegorm was most at ease and he never left Aredhel, who seemed equally pleased with his company. Curufin was more surprising, as he found himself a better companion after the painfully stiff dinner and as far as Fingon got it, they were discussing the solutions they had come up with in their forges in the still poor conditions they had in both camps.

 Finrod went to the musicians and the music, up till now providing a quiet background, changed into louder, more livid one. First pairs started to leave the small groups to dance on the free floor; they could not have a feast without dancing. Celegorm and Aredhel were among those pairs, but they never ceased their vivid discussion, which made them look most amusing. Celebrimbor left his father’s side and disappeared among the elves and when Fingon saw him again, he was trying to ask Galadriel for a dance, red up to his ears. His cousin declined and gracefully went away from the dancing floor, leaving the poor boy, who ran away and disappeared from Fingon’s sight.

Maedhros was one of the few who remained seated; he probably didn’t want to risk his strength to fail him at some point. For that reason Fingolfin didn’t move as well to keep his nephew company. Many elves came to them to exchange a few words with their new king, so Fingon moved from his seat to make them some room; Maglor did not leave his brother’s side and it didn’t look like he was going to.

At some point Caranthir must have changed his mind, for he rose energetically and left the table. It seemed he would easily find someone to talk with about the trade, Turgon even made an effort to ask him about something, but his cousin dismissed him politely and went outside; it was plain he was looking for someone. He came back before Fingon finished the piece of cake he had on his plate. The flush on his cheeks had nothing to do with the wine he had already drunk; everybody watched themselves not to drink too much. Caranthir sat back down on his place, a few seats from his eldest brother, and refilled his goblet. But before Fingon had a chance to go and ask him what happened, Finrod called from the other side of the building.

“Would you not join us, Makalaure?”

Maglor seemed ill at ease, but his cousin left him no place for pretending he didn’t hear. Fingon suspected he didn’t want to leave Maedhros as he had not done earlier, even though most of the elves had already mingled. The eldest of the brothers solved the problem, turning to the singer.

“Don’t make Findarato repeat himself, we all know you don’t need to be asked twice to sing.” Most of the gathered would see Maedhros’s smile as free and playful.

At such an obvious suggestion Maglor returned the smile, bowed to Fingolfin and left to fetch his harp. From his seat next to Lalwende Fingon could see Maedhros exchanging some remarks with Fingolfin, probably using the rare moment when they were alone. His friend relaxed and seemed not to care about the fact that he had no brother at his side.

Finrod surprised them, starting to sing just as Maglor returned. With his clear voice he sang a song from Valinor, light and pure, full of goodness and light. The last one Fingon ever wished to hear again, the one reminding him of his helplessness and despair, as he had lost hope to find his friend in those mountains hidden in fumes, reminding of the terrible harm he had done to free him.

Fingon shook his head and glanced uneasily at his cousin. Maedhros froze and he seemed not to breathe. His eyes were closed and his left hand disappeared under the table. Fingolfin’s eldest son glanced fervently at Maglor and caught his nervous look; they were both thinking hard how to interrupt Finrod without making fuss.

Before any of them did anything, Maedhros exhaled deeply and opened his eyes. He exchanged glances with Fingon and nodded slightly, as if to reassure him everything was alright. Then he turned to the singer with mild interest and asked Fingolfin to repeat his question.

Caranthir reacted as soon as Maglor sent him a silent warning from the other side of the room. He calmly refilled his goblet again and sat on the chair left free by the singer. Then he freely grabbed his brother’s hand hidden under the table, surprising him completely.

“If you need anything, tell me and I will bring it discreetly from Alcarino,” he offered quietly, feeling that his brother tried to draw back his hand.

Maedhros shook his head and after freeing his hand, he reluctantly placed it back on the table.

“I’m fine, Moryo, thank you.”

Finrod finished the song and only now did he sense his cousins’ tension, for his eyes were full of questions as he glanced from Fingon to Maedhros.

“Powerful are words of the song that brought me back to life and freed me from my misery,” said the eldest son of Feanor, surprising his family. “Just like it took great courage and friendship to dare to do what Findekano has done. Makalaure, if I am not mistaken, you do have something to present us in that matter,” he turned to his brother.

Maglor didn’t expect that, realised Caranthir. He watched his brother change seats with Finrod and glance one more time at Maedhros, as if to make sure he really wished that. And then the song went on, glorious, yet so different from the sons Kanafinwe Makalaure had composed in Tirion or later, on their exile in Formenos. In beautiful words, smooth and full of praise, Maglor folded the deeds that had left Maedhros a cripple. Caranthir realised also how long he had not seen his brother performing like he was now, with his harp in his hands and his eyes shining, so lost in his song and so much younger, unburdened with the struggles of regency that had fallen so suddenly on him and bereft him of singing and composing. During those years Maglor did not create anything, and if he found time to take his instrument, he just tuned and cleaned it; sometimes he would play one of his old songs. If Caranthir heard a new composition, it usually broke after a few tacts and then Maglor was silent for a long time. Only Amras’s pleas would make him sometimes play bit longer when they gathered for dinner.

This Maglor now was like the old, much younger brother giving the performance of his abilities at his grandfather’s court, bringing tears with his playing and enchanting with his voice. Maedhros must have noticed that too, for a peaceful smile appeared on his face, as if he didn’t hear what was it Maglor was singing about. Caranthir purposely did not look at Fingon; there was no need to foul his mood more. Fortunately, his brother had more than one song and once asked to perform, he wasn’t going to end soon. Finrod joined him and Maglor’s golden voice, subtle yet powerful and able to crush the stone, mixed with another, gentler one.

“Could you untie the sling?” Maedhros leaned over to his brother.

Surprised with this request, Caranthir freed the maimed arm from the sling. Maedhros carefully straightened his elbow and placed the stump on his knees. He didn’t retreat when his brother ran his fingers down his bony arm, but he declined the offer to refill his goblet.

“I’ve had enough, Moryo. You too, I’d say,” remarked Maedhros calmly, covering his goblet with his hand. “Would you be as kind as to walk with me to get some air, brother?”

Caranthir didn’t need to be asked twice. He rose and even if anyone was looking at them, they would think he leaned to put his goblet on the table when he helped his brother rise from the chair. Maedhros bowed ceremonially in front of Fingolfin and left the table in even, calm pace; his right arm was hanging freely, half covered with his cloak, but he did nothing to hide it on purpose, indifferent to the curious glances.

It took them a while to get outside, for it was impossible for Maedhros to walk by unnoticed and not stop to exchange a few words. Caranthir remained a silent shadow of his brother, adding something only if asked directly.

Maedhros seemed at ease among the Noldor, both his and Fingolfin’s, but his relief was plain once they were left more or less alone.

“You were right not to risk the feast outside,” commented Caranthir, glancing up at the rain; the Autumn weather returned again.

“Wait here for me, I’ll be right back.”

Maedhros disappeared between the buildings, leaving Caranthir under the short overhang that gave little protection. Caranthir stepped from under it as soon as he realised the roof was not protecting him at all and the water was dripping right under his collar. He waited a bit, but his brother’s absence seemed to be too long and he went after him.

“Nelyo?” He asked quietly, swallowing the raising panic, furious at himself for letting his brother out of sight. Before he got nervous, though, he found him behind the corner, leaning against the wall.

“I’m coming, Moryo,” sighed Maedhros and he rubbed his eyes. “Give me a moment.”

Caranthir felt as if he was seeing someone totally different from that elf he had been watching the whole day during the ceremony. In the pale light of the moon, barely glowing through the clouds, Maedhros looked gray.

“We don’t need to return at all,” remarked Caranthir. He leaned next to his brother and put one arm around him. “But do kindly notice that it’s raining.”

Maedhros snorted in response and brushed the wet fringe from his forehead. He did that with his right arm and for a moment he was utterly surprised and confused when he realised that.

“Has something happened that I should worry about?” he asked suddenly, surprising Caranthir. “You were angry when you returned to the table, so I’d rather know if there is any diplomatic scandal threatening us,” he explained.

“No, it’s nothing,” Caranthir rushed to reassure him. “Honestly, Maitimo. Angarato and I just had a few unpleasant matters to set,” he said, involuntarily raising his voice, angry at the reminder of the unpleasant conversation with his cousin who made it clear what he thought about their friendship.

 “If you say so...” Maedhros adjusted his cloak and pushed himself from the wall. Caranthir went after him, keeping close just in case, but his brother didn’t need help.

Despite the rain many elves were walking around, apparently deciding that it was time to leave the official feast and seek more private spots to talk. Mixed groups greeted politely the sons of Feanor, but Caranthir manoeuvred his brother back to the main building where the music could still be heard.

“Nelyafinwe!” A female voice called behind them. “I thought I’d never find you.”

“Lalwende.” Maedhros turned around and smiled pleasantly. “Has something happened that requires my immediate presence?” he asked politely.

“No, no, don’t trouble yourself.” Lalwende grabbed him by the shoulders and dragged him closer as if to examine him. Content with what she saw, she laughed merrily. “Findekano was supposed to find you, but Findarato and Makalaure needed him for a song and you know they are unlikely to let him go anytime soon.”

“Not a chance,” agreed Caranthir. “From what I can hear Kano is just warming up,” he noticed with pride.

“So there’s no point in counting on him. And he was supposed to tell you he had the rooms prepared for you, so that you don’t have to return to your camp at night,” explained Lalwende. “In the left wing, for you and for uncle Alcarino. We have some other buildings prepared as well, so there should be enough space for everyone.”

“Thank you for your concern, auntie,” Maedhros smiled playfully, knowing that Lalwende despised being called like that, as she was hardly older than him.

“I can show you the way, Maitimo,” suggested Fingolfin’s younger sister, letting the remark go by.

“Well, after you.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm almost done, just an epilogue left.   
> The scene with Maedhro kneeling and giving up the crown was something I wrote directly after writing Maglor seeing his brother for the first time - and so it was the main reason why this whole story was created, what pushed me to write everything that happened between Fingon returning with Maedhros and Maedhros giving up the crown. I'm eager to know how you regarded this scene and the whole ceremony.


	26. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Maglor would never suspect that the visit at his uncle would give him any pleasure. From the weeks he had spent there at his sick brother’s side, he remembered reluctance, constant vigilance and first of all fear that Maedhros would never get well. Also the reason why they were here on the other side of the lake was not exactly optimistic, but rather the reason of his worries if everything would go according to their plan, or if something would ruin Maedhros’s efforts and they would have war instead of peace with their family.

And yet... singing had given him the lightness he had not felt in years. The music intoxicated him just like the wine he had been drinking. Night hours passed no one knew when in the pleasant company with those he could still call his family. In singing and dancing, in drinks and music was the ceremony of abdication forgotten, gone were, at least for the time being, all the feuds, quarrels and suspicions. And Maglor felt free for the first time in ages – free from responsibilities, worries, divisions. For that one night he was just a singer, first among Noldor.

The Autumn sun had already risen on the sky, thick on the north with clouds that had brought rain at night, when the cousins went to get some sleep. Maglor and Fingon were not the last lost elves at the prolonged feast; they met Celegorm, Amras and Aredhel by the stables who didn’t even notice them, engaged in conversation. Maglor intended even to call them, but his head was light, full of music, and so he allowed Fingon to lead him to the quarters prepared for them.

His cousin quietly opened the doors to the room Maglor remembered all too well and none of those memories were pleasant. But on the bed where once half-dead Maedhros had lied, Caranthir was sleeping. His eldest brother, calm and fine, was sleeping on the next bed.

“Seems you’ll have to find place elsewhere,” whispered Fingon and Maglor was sure his cheeks were red in shame that he had forgotten about his eldest brother while playing. His cousin seemed not to have noticed that and just dragged him to the next room.

The wine he had drunk made his head spin and Maglor wished only to lie down and sleep. Maedhros was safe in Caranthir’s hands, should he need anything. He wished Fingon good night and passed sleeping Celebrimbor and Curufin. The boy was sleeping soundly and didn’t even move, but his brother leaned on his elbow and followed him with a curious glance. Maglor pretended he didn’t see that.

xxx

 _‘It worked. Despite everything, it worked.’_ Maedhros allowed himself to dwell on that thought after Caranthir told him that none of his brothers caused any scandal and there was little possibility they would end up decapitated, as he had so nicely put it. His younger brother didn’t even bother to hush his voice, as if he wanted to be heard, but this display only reassured Maedhros that everything was in order. But if Caranthir, despite everything, was seeking trouble, he did not find it, as most of the household was sleeping or, as he stated mockingly, couldn’t find their way to the bedroom. Amras, to whom this remark was pointed, didn’t seem too concerned. He did look guilty when he glanced at Maedhros, but when his eldest brother smiled to him, he brightened and passed the message from Aredhel that Fingolfin was inviting the sons of Feanor for a breakfast and wished to discuss a few matters in private.

Maedhros had no doubts it was just first from many meetings, as they had just made the first, symbolical step on the long way leading to the real reunion of Noldor. He suspected his uncle simply wished to talk to his nephews as a part of family, which had not been possible during the feast, where every gesture had meaning. Then he would surely call a council consisting also of the sons of Feanor; Maedhros didn’t doubt Fingolfin’s sensibility and did not expect him to be foolish enough to keep him and his brothers away from any decisions. Today was too early to draw any important matters, but Maedhros preferred to be ready, and so he refreshed himself after the night without hurry and went to seek for Maglor; whatever they were going to discuss with Fingolfin, he wished to have him by his side.

Curufin and Celebrimbor were already up and out, but Maglor was fast asleep. It was visible he must have returned and gone to sleep recently. His elegant, dark blue robe was tossed on the chair, only his harp was laid carefully  by the wall. Maedhros smiled fondly and straightened the clothes, just like he used to. The shirt in which Maglor was sleeping was equally creased, but there was nothing he could do about it.

Maedhros sat on the edge of the bed, wondering briefly how much his brother must have drunk with their cousins that he didn’t move even as the mattress bent. He grabbed one of his brother’s unruly braids and caressed his cheek with the end.

“Wake up, Laure.”

“Mmmmm?”

“Time to get up.”

“Go awaaaaay, Russsssso.” The pillow muffled Maglor’s voice as he pressed his face into it, trying to avoid his brother’s obtrusive hand.

“I’m really curious how the last evening ended. Or was it today morning, Kano?” asked Maedhros with feigned reprimand; it was nice to pretend for a moment that everything was like it had once been, when he would come to wake his younger brother who yet again forgot about the whole world, composing. Just for a moment. “The king invited us for breakfast and I suspect you would like to make yourself presentable.”

“What?!” Maglor sat upright, almost colliding with his brother leaning over him. Gone was his sleepiness as he sent Maedhros apologetic look.

“I hope your reaction does not indicate any scandal I am not yet aware of?” asked the eldest son of Feanor; Maglor’s expression was worth to see. “Do you intend to sleep all day?”

 “I intended to sleep a bit.” Maglor ostensibly fell back on the pillows, as if he wasn’t going to move at all, allowing himself to be the younger brother just for a moment.

“It’s rude to make the king wait,” Maedhros hastened him, unceremoniously removing the blanket from his brother. “Come on, we need to make sure our family survives that breakfast. You are not going to leave me alone, are you? I may need a hand.” It was getting easier to force a smile, to hide behind the distance to himself.

Maglor returned the smile and sat up. He mirrored his brother’s good mood, got up humming and looked critically at his shirt. Maedhros observed as he transformed from the sleepy artist into the second eldest son of Feanor, ready to provide him with counsel if necessary.

“The king awaits us,” repeated Maglor lightly and he opened the doors on the corridor.

Only in his quick glance Maedhros saw that Maglor was not fooled even for a moment.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this journey has ended. I wanted to say big THANK YOU to all who read, reviewed, followed or bookmarked this story. I went through the effort of translating it partly to see if I am capable of doing so, but also to fight some awful writing time I've had. The feedback I got was what I needed to push up from the bottom and find the reason to go on with writing and finishing my other stories, to wake again the thrill of wiriting and exploring the story as it evolves. So, THANK YOU. Writing is a part of my life and NOT writing was awful experience.
> 
> This story is done, but I am not. I guess you will be hearing from me,


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